


Peter Parker's Guide To Living With The Avengers

by transpeterp



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Irondad, No Powers!Peter, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Peter has anxiety, Peter is Tony's Intern, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro, everyone just kinda adopts peter as a son, i wrote this a year okay alright, spiderson, stony is minimal but there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-06 21:36:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18225722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transpeterp/pseuds/transpeterp
Summary: "We have been discussing the possibility of you moving to the Avengers Tower. Permanently.""What?"orAfter a year long internship as Tony Stark's assistant (and a year of people not believing him when he says he works for the Avengers), Peter Parker is asked to move in with the Avengers.





	1. Chapter 1

Peter flashed his tower ID to the little scanner box, and was asked to confirm his name. He was having such a horrible day, and was in such a foul mood, that even though after almost a year of doing this same thing everyday, he got very pissed off at the little box, almost tempted to try and rip it off the wall and chuck it at a car in the road behind him. He wouldn’t, because he had at least a little respect (and didn’t want to be fired) but the mental picture of it gave him little ease from the tension coursing through his body. 

Finally, the building gave access and he bustled inside and to the elevator, asking Jarvis where Tony was, like he had everyday for the past who knows how many days. 

“He is in his living room of the Avengers common floor and has requested for you to meet him there, Mr. Parker.” 

He muttered a thanks and pressed the correct level, to which it asked again for voice recognition. Honestly, Tony Stark was paranoid of someone impersonating his seventeen year old assistant. Which, if Peter was thinking rationally, could happen with minimal effort. 

As if Flash wasn’t being enough of a dick anyway, today he had began to question Peter’s intern job for the Avengers, which, while Ned and MJ tried to stand up for Peter, Flash still refused to believe. So, he punched Flash in the face. In all honesty, it was something he (or anyone, really) should’ve done a looong time ago. 

The elevator dinged, and Peter flipped his hood up, knowing well that it wasn’t going to hide his bruised cheek and busted lip from Flash swinging back, but he could try his hardest. The attempt was there. 

Stepping out into the room, he could feel eyes turn on him, everyone quiet as they stared at the junior, until finally one person spoke up. 

“You punched a kid today? Nice!” 

Bucky came up, throwing his non-robot arm around Peter’s shoulder and giving him a soft high five, grinning like it was the best day of his life. Of course he thought that. He had been trying to tough Peter up for such a long time now, it was unreal. And punching a kid square in the face was pretty tough. At least for Peter. 

“Don’t you dare congratulate the kid.” 

Peter examined the room, taking note of who was present for this little, really unneeded, intervention. Natasha, Clint, Tony, Bucky, and Steve. Thor and Bruce nowhere to be found. Probably a good thing, too. Thor would most likely try to celebrate and give Peter a beer, and Bruce would go on and on about how he shouldn’t get into fights (like he doesn’t turn into a giant green monster that fights regularly). 

“It wasn’t my fault.” That was the only thing Peter could think to say as Tony’s eyes bore into his soul as if his body wasn’t there. Tony Stark had this sort of beacon that just got Peter to admit to all his falsehoods in his life. Case in point, after only a month of working for him, Peter stayed over at the lab to help finish something (first of many late nights with Peter and Tony eating cold pizza while sitting on the kitchen floor at five in the morning, covered in oil, dirt, and about to pass out) and by three AM was so delusional he began listing every time he has ever cheated on something (test or homework-wise, not on actual people). Tony found it hilarious and proceeded to have Jarvis file the surveillance of the encounter under “blackmail” for later use (which has already happened twice: when Peter refused to order pizza without the extra toppings he liked for the group and when Tony forced Peter to either let Tony show the video to everyone or tell everyone that Peter called Tony dad on more than one occasion and proceeded to turn beet red. Peter chose the video, though, so now it seemed pointless to keep it, but Tony must feel otherwise). 

“Oh, really? Because I seem to recall the record stating you swung the first punch.” 

“He deserved it.” 

Nat had a smirk on, Clint was full on grinning, Steve was trying to look stern but failing, Bucky was still smiling proudly, arm still around his shoulders, and Tony looked perplexed and mad. Maybe not angry, but a bit… annoyed. Pissed. Much like Peter was feeling. 

“Please, tell us what he did.” The sarcasm leaked into the air, and Peter squirmed under the attention he was getting from the group. Tony knew Peter hated having everyone focus on him, so after they all got used to having Peter around, he had a talk with everyone saying how anxious the kid was and to not scare him off with their intense ability to be insanely creepy. 

“He was going off about how I am lying about this internship to make myself seem cooler.” Peter shrugged his backpack, and Bucky’s arm, off, setting it against the wall next to the elevator. Clint tossed a water bottle, which miraculously, Peter caught. You learn reflexes when you work in a place with a guy who can shoot an arrow with his back turned while hanging upside down and still have perfect aim and another with a metal arm, both of which like to mess with you. A lot. Peter sighed angrily, twisting open the cap. 

“Okay, do your friends know you do the internship?” 

Peter sensed this was about to become one of Tony’s “dad moments”, as Natasha calls them. Peter gulped some water and nodded carefully. 

“Do they believe you?” Another nod. “Okay, then who cares what that kid thinks or says!” 

“Don’t you think it’s a good thing he is standing up for himself?” 

That was Bucky. While sometimes being a bit of a pain in the ass, especially since he can sniff out when Peter is feeling annoyed or mad from four stories away and always comes to try, and fail, to cheer him up, he was a really nice guy, always standing up when Peter did something mildly stupid for a good reason. An example would be when Peter caused a short-term lock-down on the building because he wanted to make s’mores in the microwave and caused a miniature explosion. Bucky got Peter out of that mess, explaining that Peter was doing it for science (and not at all just because he wanted s’mores and was tired that day), then even took the fall for Peter, saying it was his idea. 

“It is, but not by almost breaking someone’s jaw.” 

“How do you even know about it?” Peter asked, knowing the answer wasn’t going to be something he liked. Tony took a liking to Peter a long time ago, if he hadn’t Peter wouldn’t have kept the internship so long, but Tony was very protective, almost too protective. It irritated Peter a bit sometimes, but usually he found it a bit sweet. Though he would never dare say out loud, he sometimes thought Tony may see him as his own kid. Peter wouldn’t hesitate to guess Tony was somewhat of a father figure to him. Maybe. He wasn’t exactly educated in the father category, so he didn’t know what did or did not count as a fatherly figure. 

“Oh, I gained access to your school file when you first started working here to keep tabs. I get updates whenever anything gets put in, grade, tardy, what you eat for lunch. Which reminds me, we need to talk about your eating habits.” 

“Wait, you hacked into my school system a year ago and never bothered to tell me?” Peter scoffed, feet aching from just standing there. He felt very old, like his bones were one hundred, and he moved to sit down on the couch between Nat and Clint, who were still smiling, hiding giggles. Clint nudged Peter’s foot with his, to which Peter elbowed him softly. Clint and Peter didn’t talk that much, much less than Peter talked to Tony or Steve or even Bucky, but he was nice. He drove Peter home one night and took him to get fries and a shake from McDonalds without even asking. Pretty cool. 

“I didn’t think I needed to tell you. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t caught smoking behind the gym and eating right. And since you have had Diet Coke and a bag of chips for lunch every single day for the past two weeks, I think it is time I thank my past self for hacking in and be very concerned with your health conditions.” 

“Okay, first off, I don’t smoke, second off, have you ever tried Midtown’s cafeteria food? And third, does it really matter if I punched a guy at school? It doesn’t affect my work here.” 

“It… it does.” Tony sighed, rubbing the back of his neck and becoming defensive in a split second. His entire body language changed almost instantly, and if Peter wasn’t already in such a bad mood he would actually be intrigued at how quickly his mentor could change from protective and annoying to defensive and shut off. 

“What?” Peter asked, cracking his knuckles and watching Bucky shift from foot to foot, a nervous habit he has. “What do you mean?” 

“I can’t… we need to get to work. May is coming over at five for a dinner with us, so we need to get some real work done before then.” 

“Wow, you aren’t grounding me? Thanks!” Peter said, sarcastically happy. Tony flung a ponytail holder he had around his wrist for whatever reason at the fifteen year old, laughing smally. Peter sensed Tony was avoiding a real argument without May there, and he would get the brunt of it later, without the vocal support from Bucky and smiling support from Clint and Natasha. 

Steve might still be there, but he tended to be quieter around May, or anyone outside of the Avengers, really. He was shy around Peter at first, though shy might not be the right word. More… cautious. Respectful. But now, after a year of Peter helping him understand what the hell vine is and showing him how to work Youtube (and also texting him countless pictures of meme after meme after meme and then explaining most of them because Steve didn’t understand), Steve has begun to warm up, actually engaging in conversations and talking more personal with Peter. They both could bond over the “decently bad childhood” thing. 

“We got some cleaning up to do in the lab, Pete. Let’s get to it!” He said, making his way towards the elevator, leaving Peter’s bag on the ground. Peter sighed, standing up and following. Tony turned before Peter got all the way there though. “Cap, we might have some heavy stuff needing lifting.” 

“Call if you need me,” He said as Peter walked by, ruffling his hair a bit. Bucky waved gingerly as the elevator closed. 

 

\--

 

“You know, it’s good that Tony looks into these things, Peter. You never would have told me.” 

Peter sighed for what felt like the hundredth time as they sat at dinner. Tony had lied, and they had gone out instead of actually eating at Avengers tower, instead, Tony, Steve, Peter, and May were sitting in some chinese place with dim lights and most people dressed way fancier than Peter’s Midtown sweatshirt and faded, ripped, dirty-from-the-lab jeans and beat up converse that he has had since eighth grade. 

“I haven’t discussed everything with him, yet. I wanted you to be here so that he knows everyone’s side of this suggestion.” Tony’s eyes flitted from May to Peter, and Peter crinkled his eyebrows. Steve smiled at his empty appetizer plate in front of him, not looking at Peter. 

“Discussed what?” 

“We have…” May grabbed Peter’s hand affectionately. She looked hopeful, but also a bit sad. “We have been discussing the possibility of you moving to Avengers tower. Permanently.” 

“What?” 

The words didn’t even register in Peter’s mind. 

“Well, it would just be easier. You spend your nights there, most dinners there. It seems ridiculous at this point to have Tony or someone drive all the way to Queens at midnight when it would… you don’t have to if you don’t want to, sweetheart. We just wanted to suggest it.” 

“I don’t… I can’t leave you.” Peter was so confused, so many thoughts running through his head. Living with the Avengers… that would be awesome. No one could say he didn’t work with the Avengers then, what with Captain America cruising up to drop Peter off in the morning on his bike. But May. May has been through so much, and it had taken so long for them to get better… To start getting better. After Peter's parents, then Uncle Ben. Peter couldn’t just leave. Leave her all alone in that small apartment. They couldn’t actually be suggesting that. 

“Sweetie, I’m starting night school in like two weeks, remember? I will be busy from six to nine every single night, then so tired I will just collapse after. You practically live at the tower anyway, there isn’t much we would lose. Breakfast, maybe. But we can get dinner together whenever you want, and you can stay over on weekends. Don’t make a decision because of me.” 

Tony smiled to his lap, and Steve nudged him caringly. They shared a smile together, and Peter sighed, staring at May with a sadness, mixed with a slight hint of hope. Happiness. 

“Are you sure you will be okay alone?” Now he couldn’t believe he was considering it. Because he actually did want to live with the fucking Avengers. He really did. The kid inside him was freaking out, much like he had a year before, when he first started working there. 

“Come on, I survived a lot of years living alone before your uncle wiggled his way into my life. And, anyway, you were going to go off to college in a year anyway. This way, you are actually closer to your school, and you can get even more work experience for college applications.” 

“I’m sure ‘lived with the Avengers’ will turn a few heads,” Steve winked, and Peter chuckled softly, smiling a bit. 

“True.” 

A hesitation. 

“Okay. Let’s do it.” 

Tony paid for dinner that night, and Peter went home with May, arm and arm, happy with this new chapter he was approaching. 

And fucking terrified.


	2. Chapter 2

“That’s it,” Peter sighed as he handed Steve the last box from his room two weeks later. There was still some stuff left, a few items of clothing left for when he stayed over, some of his old trophies from when he was a kid, the crappy computer he had found dumpster diving. 

Steve carried it out, and Peter went for his desk drawer, where he kept the framed picture of him, his parents, and Uncle Ben tucked away. It wasn’t even that great of a picture, a younger version of his parents smiling to the camera as a baby Peter was sleeping in his mom’s arms, wrapped in a blanket Peter had tucked into one of the boxes, May and Ben next to them. May was looking at Peter with love in her eyes and Ben was grinning at the camera, cheeks red as they were outside in the wintertime. To top it all off, they all were wearing matching Christmas sweaters. Dorks. 

“That’s a nice picture.” 

Peter jumped, glancing back at Bucky, who was looking at the picture, head cocked to the side. “Is that you?” 

“Yeah, those are my parents, and that’s my Uncle Ben.” He pointed out, and Bucky nodded, looking serene, sad in a way. 

“They all seem so in love with you.” 

This made Peter smile, and Bucky wrapped an arm around the small teens shoulders. 

“Come on, we can set it up nice and proud in your new room.” 

Peter tearily hugged May goodbye, even though they planned to meet for dinner in a few days. They said their I love you’s, twice, and Peter climbed into the backseat of the car Bucky and Steve were waiting in, Peter’s stuff piled into the back. 

“Ready kid?” Steve smiled in the mirror, and Peter nodded, not taking his eyes off his apartment building, May on the sidewalk waving sadly. 

“Just think off all the fun you will have at the tower. Me, twenty four seven.” Bucky’s word shook Peter out of his sadness, his almost regret for not hugging May tighter, telling her again he loved her. 

“Oh, drop me off. I changed my mind. I don’t want to go anywhere near the tower,” Peter sarcastically commented, and Bucky flipped him off in the mirror, which Steve smacked his hand for. 

Steve and Bucky launched into a conversation, and Peter just watched the buildings go by as they got closer and closer to the tower, his new life. Peter felt weird. He thought of the fact it wasn’t a new life, but instead just him actually sleeping at the place he spent most of his time. He gripped the frame, picture facing down in his lap, tighter, knuckles turning pale. 

“They all seem so in love with you.” 

Peter sighed. He wasn’t going to cry, he had stopped tearing up at mentions of his parents or uncle a long time ago, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have horribly amazing dreams about them being alive, him being in a happy, complete dream, waking up in cold sweats and the harsh reality they weren’t there. He would usually cry himself back to sleep in May’s arms on those days, though she never knew what he had dreamt. He refused to tell her the first few times, and she must’ve realized somewhere along the way what he had been dreaming, and stopped asking, just held him closer and hushed his tears and lured him back to sleep. 

The rest of the day was spent with the others in the building coming in and out helping him. Steve went to work when they arrived so Natasha came down to help him and Bucky with the stuff, then Bucky left and him and Natasha began to unpack before Tony joined, then Clint came somewhere along the way, and Steve popped back in. Before Peter could even blink, it felt, it was dinnertime and someone had ordered pizza. 

He sort of followed Bucky like a lost puppy, but he didn’t seem to mind. They chatted about his school, his friends, and he insisted on Peter bringing Ned over one day so he could meet him and learn about Star Wars. Each grabbing two slices, they sat next to each other on the couch, and before Peter could start eating Clint bounded over with his own plate, sitting right next to Peter and joining in on the conversation, saying how they should go on a Star Wars movie marathon with Bucky, Steve, and Peter. Peter tried to contribute, but before he knew it Bruce joined in, then Natasha, and he felt lost in all the talking, casualness as they all lounged around the living room. Sure, him and May almost never ate at their table, if they were even eating at home, and usually ate in the living room, but the most crowded it ever got was if Ned was sleeping over. 

He felt a bit washed out in the conversation, or argument, about something he actually did like, so he stayed quiet, munching on his slice and staring at his feet. 

After a few minutes, Thor came in and began talking with Nat, and everyone kind of entered their own world. Clint was talking to Steve, who had appeared halfway through the conversation, and Peter felt very alone, despite being in a room full of people. 

When no one was really paying attention to Peter, he got up, put his plate in the sink in the kitchen, and escaped (down the stairs as to not draw attention with the elevator) down a flight to the lab. 

He expected to be alone, fidget with some wiring and maybe blow something up (controlled, of course). But, when he opened the stairway doors into the room he was blasted with loud music and could hear a power drill. Taking a step into the room, he saw Tony hard at work doing whatever Tony was doing. Even though they had just cleaned the lab out two weeks ago, actually organizing everything, it already seemed a mess, with wires and junk everywhere. Peter didn’t mind, though. It added character, it seemed. Kind of like making it his and Tony’s place. (Peter used to think of it as just Tony’s place, but after a while of spending most of his day in the room, it was his now, too. He loved it.) 

As to not scare Tony, he asked Jarvis to turn the music to half volume. Peter stood awkwardly, still by the door, as Tony cut off the power tool and turned around, asking Jarvis to cut it all the way. 

“Hey, why aren’t you upstairs? They got pizza.” Tony set down the tool and wiped his hands on a disgusting rag. Peter stared at his feet, feeling completely silly now that he was there. He couldn’t even deal with a dinner with them, how lame was he? It wasn’t even a real, sit down around the dining table dinner, just pizza on a couch, and he felt like the walls were closing in and he was going to be trapped in his own mind forever. 

“I ate some. I just…” 

Tony stepped forward, around some machinery, which whirred in what seemed to be annoyance. 

“Too much, too fast?” 

Peter looked up, surprised at Tony for basically reading his mind. Tony chuckled, tossing the rag down. “Don’t worry, I was the exact same way when we first started this. I literally shut myself away in here for days.” 

“Really?” 

“Oh, yeah. Jarvis had to literally remind me to eat and to sleep. That was a fun few months.” 

“Months?!” Tony must’ve heard the fear in Peter’s mind, because his eyes got wide and he shook his head frantically. 

“No, that was just me. Peter, you are going to be fine. Just give it a few days for you to warm up to having everyone around.” 

“Okay…” Peter still wasn’t sure, so Tony smiled kindly, a bit uncertain, and placed his hand on Peter’s shoulder. 

“Why don’t you let your… friend…uh…don’t tell me…oh! Ned!...come over tomorrow? He can meet everyone, hang out, whatever.” 

“Are you… Are you sure? He will, you know, be a bit freak out-ish because you guys are like… the Avengers. He’s gonna be awkward and weird…er than normal.” 

“I’m sure,” Tony laughed, picked a different tool up. “Wanna help me finish?” 

At two AM Peter and Tony finally rode the elevator upstairs to the room level, saying their respective goodnights. 

Peter didn’t dream that night, but did wake up with that strange feeling of being in a new room. Which was reasonable. 

And he would have slept a little longer, he had time before absolutely having to get up for school… but someone was making pancakes. 

That was nice.


	3. Chapter 3

“Seriously?” 

Ned practically screamed, and Peter shushed him, looking around awkwardly. They were sitting at their normal table at lunch, but MJ wasn’t there yet. 

“Yes, don’t scream.” 

“Tony fucking Stark wants me to come over to his tower? To hang out? With the other Avengers?” 

“Yes, but I am starting to regret asking.” 

“Oh my god, I don’t have anything to wear.” 

“Just wear what you are wearing, dude. You don’t need a suit to meet them, they are pretty normal.” 

“I can’t meet Tony fucking Stark in a Star Wars t-shirt.” 

“Actually, we were talking about Star Wars last night. Dr. Banner wants to go on a Star Wars marathon and I said you were a big fan. He said you should watch it with us. Bucky will need everything explained.” 

“The Incredible Hulk and Winter Soldier want to watch Star Wars with me?” Ned was beginning to breath heavy, face in pure shock. “Jesus Christ I love you.” 

“Aw, I always knew you kids would get together.” MJ deadpanned as she appeared virtually out of nowhere, sitting on the other side of the table facing the two. 

Peter threw a chip at her, which she caught after it hit her face, eating it. “So how’s living with the almighty?” 

“Surprisingly normal.” Peter sipped his Coke Zero (he was trying, okay?), and shrugged. “I had a bit of a panic during dinner because everything was normal, but now instead of curling up in a ball in my room and sobbing I can just go work in the lab to distract myself. It helped.” 

“Sounds good. Not the panic attack part. But the being able to escape into the lab. Is everyone nice?” 

“I mean, yeah, but I have gotten to know them for a year now. It’s just… now Steve Rogers is making me pancakes at seven in the morning.” 

“Oh my god, Captain fucking America made you pancakes?” Ned yelled, and a freshman from a table over looked over, confused. Peter avoided her stare. 

“Oh my god, stop screaming, and I won’t ever let you in the building if you don’t stop calling them Tony fucking Stark or Captain Fucking America. Jesus.” 

“I’m sorry! I’m just… you are living with some of the coolest people in America. Probably the world. No, definitely the world. And you are acting like this is no big deal.” 

“It’s hard to think of them as these almighty people now, Ned. Like, maybe in the beginning, but I am pretty used to it now. I mean, it’s hard to look at them and just see the superheroes.” 

“You sound like one of those fangirls camped outside the tower waiting to jump on Cap.” MJ leaned forward, taking another chip. 

“Do you want to come over, too? It will give less attention to Ned, so less opportunities for him to make a complete mess of himself.” 

“Sure, sounds fun. But don’t get angry if I make a sarcastic comment if Cap has ice in his drinks.” 

“I won’t. He finds it funny now. But be nice about the metal arm to Bucky. And don’t question the magnets.” 

“What? What are they for?” 

“What did I literally just say, Ned?” MJ and Peter shared a look of half exasperation, half amusement. 

“What? I just want to know.” 

Peter sighed, thinking back a few months when him and Bucky became closer, all due to one particularly bad person the Avengers stopped, who made Bucky have a panic attack. Peter remembered Tony and Steve seeming so anxious, so scared for the man, which made everyone else anxious, which made Peter anxious. He remembered Tony sitting Peter down and explaining everything he didn’t really know (the whole brainwashed Russian assassin thing). 

The next day, Bucky came to the lab to have part of his arm fixed that broke in the battle, and Tony left Peter to do it. Peter and him talked, albeit a bit awkwardly at first, but got more comfortable. Peter told him about his parents and uncle, and he was the first one to really know besides Tony. Bucky understood, and they felt… They felt. It was a bit of a sentimental moment, of both of them opening to the other, but then Peter went and ruined it by suggesting magnets. Bucky was confused, and Peter explained that since it was a magnetic metal, he could modify normal magnets typically used for refrigerators or whatever to become compatible with his arm. To help him associate the arm with something else other than his past. He realized halfway through explaining to Bucky how he could modify the magnets that it was a really stupid suggestion so he brushed it off, but the next day when he came in there was a pack of kitchen magnets (those block letters kids use to spell) and a single New York magnet most people buy as a souvenir at a gas station sitting on his small desk in the corner of the lab. 

“Just, don’t, okay?” Peter said, feeling as if that moment should just stick between Bucky and Peter. Tony hasn’t even commented on it, though he has nodded in consideration whenever Peter brings in a cool magnet he has found in a random book store or gas station. Respect, or whatever. 

Thankfully, Ned and MJ must’ve sensed Peter’s discomfort on the subject, and dropped it, beginning to ask about everybody on the team, which Peter was thankful for, jumping into a somewhat thorough runthrough of everyone. 

Tony is actually really nice but a bit sarcastic, Steve will need time to warm up but is very caring and sweetest six foot man you would ever meet, Thor was in and out half the time but usually hilariously unknowing to Earth stuff, even more so than Steve at this point, Natasha and Clint were hilarious, always cracking jokes and trying to tackle Peter, Bruce was quiet but a huge nerd and if you got him started on a nerd topic he could talk for hours (“Like Star Wars! Ned, you’re gonna love him.”), Bucky was super sweet and likes to make jokes about everything uncomfortable (“MJ, you won’t be able to top it. He gets JARVIS to play the National Anthem whenever Steve is in costume, and can’t let him get a drink without commenting on the ice”). 

On the way to his last hour, he texted Tony quickly, making sure it was okay if MJ comes too, which he said was fine, of course. Then, a sarcastic, slightly pissed text for getting Coke Zero instead of Diet today.


	4. Chapter 4

It went a lot better than he had expected. 

Peter waved as they dropped Ned off at his apartment, already dropping MJ off before him, and Peter sighed, leaning back into the passenger seat chair. 

“They were very nice,” Steve said, and Peter nodded absentmindedly. In the back of his mind he pictured a Ned-esque angel thing (like those things in cartoons where its an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other) whispering “you are sitting in a car with Captain fucking America”. Peter rubbed his eyes, trying to get the voice to go away. He didn’t want to think of Steve like that. He wanted to think of him as a friend, a cool guy, not super soldier or whatever. 

“They are.” Peter hummed, trying to drown his unnecessary thoughts in the soft music playing, but it was a slower song, no bass to vibrate his seat and he couldn’t catch the melody. It’s like his brain just decided to not work. Which has happened before, but usually when he was deadly tired (i.e. the time Peter and Tony needed to finish this synthetic material for a SI presentation early the next morning and pulled an all nighter, finally finishing an hour before the meeting, ten minutes before Peter had to be at school where he had a midterm), so he closed his eyes, but realized he wasn’t even that tired, or anymore tired than he usually is. 

“Peter?” 

He snapped his eyes open and whipped his head towards Steve, who we focused on the road but face furrowed in question. 

“Sorry, what?” Peter said softly, leaning his head back, now facing Steve. 

“I said do you want to pick up take out? I doubt anything anyone is making at home is for more than one or, for that fact, edible, and there is a really good mexican place that has takeout two blocks from here.” 

“Oh, sure, sounds good.” Peter smiled, even though Steve had his eyes on the road (responsibly) and couldn’t see him. 

Steve called from the car, placing a huge order for everyone, and even if they didn’t, someone (Tony) would most likely eat it sometime later (at three AM). He found a parking spot on the street just down the street and sent Peter in with money. 

And of course he saw Liz there. 

She was standing in line, picking up her own take out order. 

Peter didn’t know if he should say hi, if she even really wanted him to. They only really knew each other from Decathlon, and even then, not that well. She was older, and never really paid him much attention. 

She turned though, and spotted Peter out of the corner of her eye. 

“Hey, Peter!” She smiled, and Peter gave a small wave, walking over after he paid at the register, just waiting for his number to be called. “What’s up?” 

“Not much, you?” 

“Not much? I heard you literally moved in with the Avengers. That’s so cool!” She said, smiling kindly at him. Peter felt awkward, scratching his knuckles as a nervous habit. 

“Yeah, I guess. I have been doing the internship for so long, and I spent most of my time either there on in school anyway, so it just seemed easier than hiking all the way back to Queens everyday.” Peter laughed, then looked at her strangely. “Wait, you live all the way in the suburbs? What are you doing all the way out here?” 

“Oh, I am staying with my grandparents for the week, my parents went on vacation. They live right down the street.” 

“Oh, cool.” Peter didn’t bother saying he lived down the street too. Since, well, it’s, like, one of the tallest buildings in New York. So. 

They chatted aimlessly, her asking Peter if he’s ready for the competition Saturday, and he made a mental reminder to remind Tony about that because he didn’t know. 

“Is your lip getting better?” Liz asked as the person in front of her got their food. It was only Peter and Liz standing at the front of the store waiting for their food now. It took Peter a minute to register that she was talking about his busted lip from the fight with Flash. 

“Oh, yeah, mostly. Still kinda stings to eat salty stuff, but it’s basically better.” Flash had barely even acknowledged that Peter existed after the fight, which Peter was one hundred percent fine with. And, no one had made anymore comments about the internship (maybe a few about his temper but whatever). So, happy days. 

“That’s good.” She hesitated. “I’m sorry, by the way.” 

“For… what?” Peter tilted his head, biting his lip, then letting go when he felt the small scab that had formed, feeling weird to not hide behind his nervous ticks. 

“For… I don’t know. Not stopping the rumors, I guess. I didn’t, like, participate, but… I didn’t make an effort to stop them.” She shrugged a bit, looking very mad, but it seemed to be more at herself than Peter, which was good because Peter did not have a damn clue what to do with a girl mad at him. He didn’t have any experience in that department (he was always a good kid for May, because May deserved good in her life), so he gave a warm smile in spite of his awkwardness. Or, what he hoped was a warm smile. How do you classify warm smiles from cold ones? God, maybe he was scaring her. He probably looked like a creep. 

“It’s okay. Really.” He said, hand still scratching his knuckles, starting to feel a bit sore. He was going to have a rash there from it come tomorrow, but he couldn’t stop. 

For some odd reason, his food came out at the same time as hers, and he had three bags and she only had one. As he struggled to put two on one hand, she reached over and took the third without asking. 

“Oh, it’s okay, I got it.” 

“No, seriously, I can help. Did you walk here?” 

“Oh, no… St--Cap drove me.” He wasn’t sure about calling Steve, well, Steve in public. It seemed way too personal, probably a lot more personal than they should be, considering the only real way they should know each other before yesterday was that he was Tony Stark’s intern. But Steve was always there, popping in, talking to Tony in hushed tones, coming to dinners with them, sitting next to Tony at every meal. Peter suspected, but never commented. He didn’t want to hurt them in whatever way this thing was. 

“Oh, okay. Is he waiting?” 

“Yeah, just down the block, I think. I can take it, really.” 

“No way, man. I want to be a good friend to get the guilt off my conscience.” She smiled kindly, then added, “Plus I don’t want to be the guy who passes up an opportunity to meet Captain America, even if it is just putting mexican food in his car.” 

Peter laughed as they exited, and he saw Steve parked a few cars down. He gestured for Liz to follow, and shifted one bag so he could open the passenger door. 

“Hey, who’s this?” Steve asked as Peter sat down, setting the bags at his feet so he could take the one Liz was holding. 

“This is Liz, we do Academic Decathlon together at Midtown.” Peter smiled a bit as Liz gave a small, shy wave, handing the bag over. “See you tomorrow?” 

“Totally.” As she handed over the bag, her hand briefly touched Peter’s and he almost jumped at the contact. “Great to meet you, Captain Rogers.” 

“Please, call me Steve. Great to meet you, too.” 

And she was gone. Peter closed the door, and buckled in, then realized Steve wasn’t moving. He turned, and saw Steve smiling smally at him, a bit of mischief in his eyes. 

“What?” Peter asked, almost instantaneously feeling heat creep onto his face from his neck and the tip of his ears. 

“Nothing.” Steve pulled out of the spot, smile still stuck on his face. 

Peter didn’t like that mischievous of a smile. 

 

\--

 

He made it through dinner, and afterwards, heart beating a little too fast to be considered normal, he excused himself to his room to do his work. At least he made it through, though still just eating around the couch. It was easier this time, too, because Tony was there to keep Peter in conversation when he got lost through inside jokes or a lot of voices at once. 

His room, like most of the building, had floor to ceiling windows covering the whole side of one wall. Tony had stuck a cup to the wall with dry erase markers so it was like an entire wall to write on. The whole bottom was littered with small sketches Ned and MJ did. Ned just drew stick figures saying one-liners that were very bad, but MJ drew the Avengers in cartoon, each adorned with their uniforms, then a small little cartoon Peter (Peter knew it was him because ever since him and MJ became friends she drew him with ridiculously exaggerated hair, all puffy and pushed up, which wasn’t right but Peter didn’t mind) holding a science beaker with a evil happy face, much like a mad scientist. That made Peter chuckle, as he drew a little cloud around it and scribbled ‘save’ so that the cleaning bots would know to not mess with it, like kids do to drawings on whiteboards in school. Hopefully they can understand to not erase it. 

He powered through his pre-calc and honors physics no problem, ignored his language arts project that was due in a week, and began to study for the decathlon that was steadily approaching. He only had a few more days and he was their top guy, and the school, a private from Virginia, was really good, second in the country last year. So Peter needed to work double hard. 

Around midnight, he remembered he needed to tell Tony about the decathlon, so after actually getting out of his clothes and putting on pajamas (blue pants and a random sweatshirt) and wandered downstairs quietly. 

Before just barging in, he knew that if Tony was asleep, the lab would be locked up, so entering would sound an alarm, so as he stood in the stairway, he cleared his throat. 

“Jarvis?” He whispered. 

“Yes, Mr. Parker?” 

“Um, is Tony in his lab?” 

“Yes, sir, along with Captain Rogers.” Jarvis was also speaking softly. Tony must’ve programmed him to talk quieter at night. Or maybe judging by how the person was talking themselves. 

Peter took a breath, and pushed the door open. 

Some stuff had been moved since he last been in there, when he showed MJ and Ned around earlier, now the bigger machines were pushed from the middle to the side, and Tony and Steve were standing in the middle, testing some kind of fabric Steve was wearing. It was just half of the uniform, just the top, and below he was wearing basketball shorts. 

“Hey, Peter.” Steve smiled, and Tony looked up smiling. 

“What’s up kid?” He asked, adjusting Steve’s shoulders. 

“Nothing, I just… I have a decathlon on Saturday in Virginia. Ned and I usually room, and it’s a school trip, so…” Peter trailed off, shrugged. 

“Sounds fun.” Tony was sharing a smirk with Steve. It occured, then, to Peter, that Tony took comfort in Peter getting in awkward conversations over stuff he doesn’t need to worry about. 

“You already knew about it.” He pushed his hair out of his face, sighing. “You know, I don’t like this whole ‘you knowing every single thing that happens remotely involving me in school’ thing,” Peter sighed, and Tony laughed, making Steve whack him, while also giggling slightly. Peter rolled his eyes. 

“Well, sucks, doesn’t it. I am your boss, I keep tabs. And it’s not just you, don’t worry. I have a list of about twenty people I constantly keep tabs on, all day, everyday. It’s my own personal reality TV show, but you are the only one to have real drama, what with the whole punching thing.” Tony turned to wink, and Peter sighed again, crossing his arms and walking towards them now. 

“Is this the new synthetic stuff?” He asked, poking it playfully, choosing to ignore the part where Tony was a giant stalker to him and apparently other unassuming members of society. At least Peter wasn’t on any criminal records. The only thing bad about him from school is the punch, but colleges won’t care about a single fight that happened his junior year of high school (he hoped). God, if that punch is what he has to use the “lived with the Avengers” card on he was going to be pissed. 

“Yep, just wanted to test it out, stretch-wise and stuff.” Tony said, pulling the fabric down a little more before whipping his head towards Peter in surprise. “Shouldn’t you be asleep? You have school tomorrow.” 

“Now you care if I sleep? What about legendary all nighter day? You didn’t care then.” Peter shrugged, examining the fabric. It was supposed to be bullet reflective, bounce anything back whichever way it came. But it was still in testing stages. 

“That’s… different. Now you are, like, my responsibility. So… go to bed.”   
Steve snorted, and both Tony and Peter whacked him, Tony on the shoulder, Peter on the head, all three now giggling, before Peter let out a yawn and Tony pushed him out of the lab, yelling at him to sleep, lab door shutting and locking behind him. Peter walked away, still giggling. 

 

\--

 

“That’s hypocritical,” Steve chuckled as the doors shut Peter from the lab, Tony turning and sighing as he made his way back towards him. 

“Can it, Rogers.” He sighed, pulling at the fabric some more and groaning. “There is too much give here, but not enough if I would reduce it even by a fraction. One way a bullet could still hit you, hurt you, another you wouldn’t be able to breathe and wouldn’t be able to do the mission anyway.” 

“Stop stressing. It’s late, let’s go watch a movie or something.” Steve kissed Tony’s head gingerly, and Tony almost melted into the touch. He used to feel very uncomfortable with any touching, still does for most people. Steve didn’t know that Tony didn’t like being touched, and it wasn’t until one day that Tony and Steve got in a screaming match (meaning Tony screaming and Steve standing there, taking it like a fucking soldier because what else would he do?), Steve finally had enough and grabbed Tony’s hands to keep them from knocking some of his equipment over and Tony jerked away like Steve had the plague.

After that, he coaxed Tony out to tell him what was really wrong, and Tony shared all the deep-seeded stuff ingrained in his head from a little kid. (Coaxed isn’t the right word. More like Tony drunk called Steve one night from the lab and insisted he come down, which Steve did, then Tony just spilled about everything, dragging on and on about how he felt guilty about making Steve upset and blah blah blah.) Steve began to try and help Tony out with his “can’t physically make skin to skin contact with people” thing. 

It was little things at first. A nudge with his foot, shoe to shoe. Then an elbow, Steve’s sweater-clad one against Tony’s bare arm. After a month of small little gestures that never pushed Tony out of his comfort zone, they were working in the lab (Tony was working, Steve was there to help lift heavy stuff and hand Tony the tools he needed), and Tony asked for the wrench. Steve held it by the very end so no contact had to happen, but before he could react, Tony grabbed his hand, only for a brief second before taking the wrench. Then Steve began to up his touching. Small finger pokes when Tony dozed off during debriefings, laying his hand on Tony’s after missions when Tony had a panic attack and Steve sat next to him, being there for support. Then Tony started to do small things, too, which made Steve’s heart flutter. 

Before long, it had escalated to more than a friend helping another with personal space issues. Tony would hold Steve’s hand under a blanket as the team watched a movie. Steve would hug Tony for a second too long to be considered just friendly, but maybe that was Tony just reading into things too much (something he did for almost everything in his life, specifically regarding a certain cute super soldier). Tony would run his fingers up and down Steve’s arms. And, the best development, Steve kissing Tony’s forehead if it seemed like an appropriate time. The first time he did it, Tony’s head jerked up and slammed Steve’s jaw into his upper lip, causing him to have a busted lip for a day, but then, the next time they were alone again and in the proximity, Steve was unsure, and Tony reached up, wrapping his hand around Steve’s neck and pulling slightly, an invitation to kiss him again, now that he was prepared and knew Steve wanted to kiss him, at least on the forehead. 

It didn’t take a genius (even though it helped that Tony was one, though he wasn’t very smooth when it came to this kind of stuff) to figure out where the relationship was heading, and before Tony felt like he even had a second to doubt his every move and over-analyze every little movement into thinking Steve hated him, they were dating, and, even though those thoughts of irrational fear still hung around at three AM, they were happy together. 

“What movie?” Tony agreed much to the surprise of Steve and himself. He shook it off, smiling a bit as Steve ran his finger aimlessly up Tony’s arm. He really did need to finish his lab work, but suddenly he didn’t care. 

“I don’t know. One I probably haven’t seen.”

‘Narrow it down, Cap, that’s like every movie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally some stony we got there


	5. Chapter 5

The door slid open with a small mechanical whirring noise, and Tony didn’t have to look to know it was Peter. He estimated it was around the time Peter got back from school, but to be fair he hadn’t looked at a watch or clock all day and has been relying heavily on his internal mindset of what time it was. And the sun. Like a caveman. 

“Perfect timing! Hand me that… no, the other thing. No, the other thing. The red one! Yes, that! Bring it.” Tony waved Peter forward with one hand, barely glancing away from his project, which seemed to be a motorcycle. 

‘What are you doing?” Peter tossed his backpack down and walked over to hand the tool to Tony, who thanked him with a hum. 

“Rebalancing Cap’s bike. He takes a lot of sharp turns, and I am evening it out so that it can balance as he does, even with his entire body weight leaning to one side. Good for sharp turns and for helping him not fall off,” Tony grinned to the bike, leaning over to check something on the bottom. “Actually, I don’t really need any help today, just working on the bike then I am finished for the day, so… go start on your homework?” 

“It’s Friday,” Peter laughed lightly, sitting down on one of the only empty chairs in the entire lab. The rest had stuff he didn’t want to touch, for fear they would electrocute or come alive and attack him. Both of which were not uncommon occurrences. 

“Does Happy need to drop you off anywhere for your field trip tomorrow?” 

“No, Steve said this morning that he would drive me to Ned’s.” Peter said, watching Tony with fascination. Tony moved so freely, so openly, in the lab, with a flowing motion of doing everything as a system. He knew the lab, the lab knew him. Outside the lab, he was a bit more guarded. Always the smallest bit hesitant. But in the lab, it was different. He didn’t seem to care. 

“Shouldn’t you go pack?” Tony asked, not even sending a glance in his direction, he was too focused on getting the bike done so he could go lay down somewhere. Peter would bet good money that he didn’t have that he hadn’t slept since the day before. 

“Oh, yeah.” Peter left quickly, understanding sometimes Tony liked to be alone in his lab, just him and his robots. 

Peter dumped his bag in his room, then ignored what Tony said and went to the kitchen with his decathlon binder and laptop, where Bucky, Steve, Clint, Bruce and Natasha were playing poker, Bruce and Natasha huddled together looking over the same cards. 

“Hey, what’s up?” He asked as the door shut behind him and everyone looked over. He noticed Clint briefly glance at Bucky’s cards without him noticing, then smirk. Peter held a poker face, though, as Natasha responded. 

“Poker. You want in? We can deal you in the next hand.” She turned back, and folded. Only Bucky and Clint were left, and Clint was holding a good poker face. 

“Nah, I got to study for the de—field trip,” Peter turned a bit pink and sat down at the vacant end of the dining table, opening his binder. 

“What’s a de-field trip?” Bucky asked, leaning back, staring intently at his cards, obviously not sure if he wanted to fold or not. Clint looked up, made eye contact with Peter, and winked sarcastically. 

“Well, it’s, uh, it’s a decathlon,” Peter stammered awkwardly when he realized everyone’s attention was mostly on him. 

“Athletic?” Natasha asked, leaning back some more. Peter noticed her shoulders pushing into Bruce, who didn’t seem to mind. At all. 

Peter snorted, looking down at the binder. “Have you seen me?” 

Everyone chuckled at the half-ass joke, and Peter got his laptop up and running as Bucky raised and then lost to Clint, making everyone groan as he added to his pile. His significantly large pile. Peter stood up loosely, and walked to the kitchen, before awkwardly walking back, rubbing the back of his neck as Natasha dealt. 

“Bruce? I don’t… I don’t know where the cups are.” Peter stared at his feet, face heating up, surprising him at how he was such a good liar. 

“Oh, okay, I can help you.” 

They walked into the kitchen, and Peter walked straight to the cups. Bruce raised his eyebrow, and Peter smiled, moving to the fridge to get water. 

“Clint is cheating. Looking at cards.” Peter heard Bruce exhale heavily, laughter bubbling over in his chest. 

“I knew he wasn’t that good! Thanks, kid.” 

Peter sipped his water and went to sit back down. He tuned out their conversation and focused on studying before he felt someone whack the back of his head. He bent over, rubbing it, then turned to look at whoever did it. 

“You are a traitor, Parker.” Clint stormed away, everyone else laughing their asses off at the other end of the table. Soon after, Peter joined them, before taking one last glance at his work before ditching his binder and taking Clint’s spot in the game, and even joining the conversation. 

Everything, after almost a week of complete awkwardness, was finally coming together. Finally being somewhat okay. Somewhat fun. 

 

\--

 

That night, Peter had his parent dream. 

He woke up, face and body damp, sweaty, cold, shivering, and crying. He hoped he wasn’t too loud in his sleep, and resorted to quiet sobs into his pillow, before deciding his room was too much, too confined. He was too lonely however many stories up looking over New York with only a glass and a lifetime blocking it, staying just outside his reach. 

He got up and slipped a random sweatshirt on, walking quietly into the hall and to the living room. He had his pillow with him, holding it to his mouth, muffling the tortured exhales he was making. 

Pushing into the living room, he collapsed on the couch overlooking New York. He contemplated calling May, asking if he could come over and stay at hers, but he knew she would insist on coming to get him, and it was almost four AM, and she had a class that previous night. He wouldn’t do that to her. 

So instead he cried into his pillow, lights blurring into circles through his glassy eyes. 

“Peter?” 

He almost screamed out loud, whipping around to see Clint standing in the doorway, hand on his waistband, eyes searching the room for any opposing threats. Ever the spy.

He stepped in when he was sure there wasn’t a threat, letting his hand fall from the gun haphazardly shoved in his waistband (like that wasn’t ominous), and turned his attention back to the seventeen year old sobbing on the couch who, just a few hours ago, was eating a Thor dinner special (buttered noodles) and telling the story to everyone about his first kiss in middle school during spin the bottle, how she had slapped him for “not doing it right”. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asked, stilling his steps, becoming unsure if he should comfort the kid. Peter sniffed, half of his face still hidden by his pillow. His eyes were unmistakingly wet and bloodshot. 

“N--nothing. Did I w--wake you up?” He stuttered, voice a bit muffled through the pillow. Clint decided to risk it, and sat down on the opposite end of the couch, not worrying him by getting too close. He knew from Tony that the kid didn’t like to be pushed. Wasn’t that comfortable with new people right away. 

“No, don’t worry. Get used to the fact that at least one person in this tower is awake at any given hour of the day. Just trust me on that fact.” Clint stared at his lap, not wanting to show notice to the small sniffs and tears taking over the boy. But he couldn’t just let him cry. “Are you hurt?” 

He wasn’t turning on his teammates. He just was trying to rule out the possibility someone in the building lost their mind (you know, someone like the billionaire genius, the super soldier, the guy with a metal arm, the Norse God, the guy with immense anger issues, or the girl who was previously a Russian assassin) and hurt Peter in the crossfire. 

“No, I--I’m fine. Sorry you worried,” Peter made a move to stand up, but Clint held an arm out, gesturing for him to stay, to sit. Peter did, hesitantly. He wouldn’t make eye contact, and Clint wasn’t forcing him to. 

“If I am honest, you don’t look fine. You look as if either you have the flu or you just had a horrific dream.” Clint studied the kid’s face in the minimal light provided from the big windows. He had streaks going down flushed cheeks, sweat covering his forehead and some hair sticking to his forehead from the sweat. He was shaking slightly. 

“I--” Peter couldn’t make words. He didn’t even think Clint knew about his parents, much less would understand the dream. “I’m sorry you’re worrying. It’s okay. I’m--I will be fine.” 

“Of course you will. I don’t doubt that. But if I am going to worry about you, and I am, then you should just tell me what I am worrying about so I don’t lose sleep thinking I could help, or help more,” Clint shrugged, and Peter sneaked a small glance, almost doubtful. Like he didn’t believe that Clint would actually care about his issues. 

“You--I--it’s dumb. Seriously,” Peter whispered, voice rough and breaking. Tears were slowing down, but mostly still falling free. He felt his hands shaking, and was trying to keep his lip from quivering like a dog. 

“How dumb can it be, you’re crying at four in the morning because of it.” 

Peter didn’t respond, and Clint sighed, leaning back. 

“Fine, don’t tell me. But I can’t shoot anyone if you don’t tell me who is causing it.” 

“You can’t shoot them.” 

“Why not? I shoot a lot of people, all deserved it. If someone is making you cry at ungodly hours then--” 

“They’re dead.” 

The words were met with silence, as Clint scoured his brain to try and remember if anyone had died recently that would affect Peter. He thought about his aunt--was she married? He never heard of an uncle. Did the uncle die? It couldn’t be just that, Peter said them not him, and if he was this distraught he must’ve been close to his uncle and Clint has never even heard of an uncle. The only parental figure he had mentioned was May. 

Oh.

Oh. 

“How… how long?” Clint asked, keeping his voice lower than probably necessary. Peter finally looked up, and stared at him for a few seconds, eyes blurred and face beginning to tremble a fraction. 

“Since I was a kid.” 

“Oh.” 

Silence. Clint decided he hated the silence. Peter decided he hated it, too. But neither could break it. 

Until an alarm started blaring, red lights blinking and a very loud sound whirring through the living room, and most likely the rest of the facility. Both boys leapt up and Clint instinctively moved to stand close to Peter, gun from his waistband already out and held out in preparation. 

Steve came tumbling in a second later, fidgeting with his phone, hair a mess from sleeping and no shirt. Natasha and Bruce were at his heels, rubbing their eyes and yawning. 

Then Tony came crashing in. 

“Where’s Peter? He’s not in his room. He’s--” Tony stopped as he saw Peter half hiding behind Clint, obvious tears stuck to his face. Tony knew that he wasn’t crying from the alarm, but couldn’t pinprick why he was crying in general. 

Peter was ushered by Natasha and Clint to the elevator, and he was sent to the ground floor where he was supposed to wait in the safe area, like they had always practiced even back when Peter had just started working there. As he got into the elevator, Clint leaned in. 

“Stay safe.” 

The doors shut. 

 

\--

 

“I really can just take the subway. It’s only two trains away.” Peter watched as Steve quickly scarfed down a piece of toast while trying to pull on a shirt and not get crumbs on it. 

“No, it’s okay, I’m good,” Steve said, but it was muffled through through the toast. Peter got the gist, and nodded, uncertain. 

“You sure you don’t want to rest? Seriously, I will be fine.” 

“You think Cap would miss out on driving you to sit in on debriefings? That man will do anything other than sit in a meeting room with Tony Stark. Which is reasonable,” Bruce chuckled as he walked in, ruffling his own hair that was damp from a shower. He looked a bit pale, but the hot shower brought a little color to his cheeks, at least. The bags under his eyes eliminated that, though. 

It wasn’t that bad of a fight. They had tracked a threat in a recluse area in New Jersey, and took it out no real issue. That didn’t stop Steve from having a new cut on his cheek, and Bruce to look very flushed out even two hours after the fight. He went straight for the coffee. 

“Have a good time. Give Tony my condolences,” Steve said, and walked towards the elevator, gesturing for Peter to follow. “Let’s go, before Tony catches on, though.” 

Peter scrambled with his backpack to the elevator, following Steve in. The last thing he caught a glance of was Clint, who had walked into the kitchen, staring at him with curiosity. 

 

\--

 

They lost the competition. 

That night, back at the shared hotel room with Ned, Peter worried about Clint confronting him when he got back to the tower, and was lost in thought when he was bitten by a spider. 

Screaming, he flicked it off, where unbeknownst to him, it scurried through a crack in the hotel wall and out of sight and Peter fished for a band-aid and googled if common spiders were poisonous, mind still completely on the Clint issue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comic clint is better than mcu clint and those are facts


	6. Chapter 6

Peter had come to the conclusion in the hotel room that the best way was to just face Clint head-on, explain that he had horrible nightmares where his parents and uncle were alive and he and May were with them and happy and he always woke up in cold sweats and started crying because it felt so real and they were all again taken away. 

That was going to be a cheerful thing to dump on the poor man.

He rode the elevator up, rubbing his neck over the band-aid. He wasn’t sure how long spider bites hurt for, but this one stung like a bitch. He felt as if he could feel it radiate through his whole body. 

The doors slid open, and Natasha leapt in, slamming her hand down on the emergency close button. Peter stared at her in confusion, looking back out into the kitchen and saw Clint (who was soaking wet with a towel around his waist) and Tony (fully dressed but looking very angry) leaping over knocked down chairs in an attempt to get to them, but the doors shut and Natasha set it for ground floor, cackling like a maniac. 

“Hello to you, too,” Peter raised his eyebrow, and she caught her breath, laugh coming out in short spurts then stopping, smile not fading. 

“I stole Tony’s phone.” 

“Then why is Clint running after you?” Peter asked, raising an eyebrow and shrugging his bag up further on his shoulder. 

“Because I took a picture of him in the shower with it.” 

“Ah.” Normal adult behavior. 

They shared a good laugh about it, before Natasha sighed contently, running her fingers over the aforementioned stolen phone. 

“How was the competition thing?” She asked, leaning back, Peter following suit. 

“Was fine. We lost, though,” Peter shrugged, ignoring the dull throbbing still in his neck by the bite. His inner consciousness had the back-of-the-mind thought that he really was poisoned by the stupid spider. 

“Aw, that sucks. Still had fun with your friends though?” Nat raised her eyebrow suggestively. “Specifically that Liz girl?”

“How do you…” Peter remembered Steve giving that godforsaken smirk when he had met Liz. “Oh, great, did Steve tell everyone?” 

“So, do you loooove her?” Nat wiggled her eyebrows. 

“No! Jesus, we literally are just friends. Barely that,” Peter rubbed his neck tightly. It felt like it was throbbing more and more by the second. The elevator reached the ground floor and Nat hit the penthouse button again, starting back to the top. “And, anyway, she’s moving at the end of the year. Oregon, or somewhere.” 

“What happened to your neck?” 

“What? Oh, nothing, just a little cut,” Peter grimaced as it throbbed more and more, suddenly taking over his body in painful waves. 

“Pete, you don’t look too hot.” 

“I’m fi--” 

Peter’s legs gave out, and he collapsed to the elevator floor. 

“Oh god. Jarvis, go faster, get to the penthouse. Tell Tony Peter collapsed.” 

“Wait, I’m okay, I’m--” Peter was spasming out, and Nat fell to the ground next to him, taking his pulse with slim fingers. It was out of control. Veins in his neck seemed to be… glowing. And Peter’s eyes were fluttering shut. 

“Pete, stay with me, okay? Keep with me until we get to--” 

Peter lost consciousness, Nat’s voice fading into his mind as he fell into sleep, pain still coursing through his veins. 

 

\--

 

“Tony, he’s going to be fine.” 

Steve watched as he paced back and forth in the small emergency room, which was actually a hospital room but had to be turned into a makeshift waiting room since having more than half of the most famous superhero team on the planet sitting in a waiting room where limitless reporters and cameras could get to was not very safe for the hospital. 

So, Steve sat next to Bucky, Clint, and Natasha, waiting with his phone in his lap for May to return his five missed calls, knowing she was in work right now. He was five minutes away from calling her actual work or just marching down there himself and demanding to see her. Tony’s pacing was driving him insane. 

“How do you know? He could die, Steve. What the fuck happened to him that made him faint?” 

Clint had a cold look on his face, showing no emotion as he stared at the ground, twisting an arrow in his fingers over and over again, running his calloused fingers against the smooth arrowhead. Natasha shared the same look, hands still in her own lap, no sign of worry in her entire body. Bucky was leaning back, eyes closed, peeling the magnets off his arm then sticking them back on repeatedly, hands shaking very slightly, the only sign of his own nerves. 

Steve was trying to focus on everyone else but Peter being alone in another room being examined, maybe still unconscious, alone, most likely afraid. 

Tony had extremely shaky hands, hiding them by crossing his arms and focusing on his footsteps as he paced five steps then turned, back and forth, back and forth. 

The only sounds in the room was the faint buzzing of movement every minute or so in the hallway outside, each time getting close to the door and making everyone in the room’s heart leap before disappearing, and the steady rhythmic steps of Tony. 

Finally, finally, after almost twenty minutes of being in the hospital, Steve’s phone rang and he sprang to answer, everyone looking over at him. Tony stopped pacing. 

“Steve, what’s wrong?” May’s voice was frantic before Steve could even explain what was happening. 

“Peter collapsed at the tower. We are at the emergency room right now, he is being checked on, but we have no updates because we aren’t immediate family. He was alive when they took him back, breathing steadily, but wasn’t waking up.” 

No need to sugarcoat it. 

“I am on my way. What’s the address?” 

Steve hung up a second later, biting his lip and sharing a look with Tony, who stared back, unmoving for a few more seconds, before starting to pace again, casting his look back at his feet. 

Steve couldn’t take it. He was in enough serious situations as it is, most of which are broken up by Clint’s sarcastic comments and dumb jokes. But now, Clint wasn’t showing anything, locking himself down from the others. Which, even in this life or death situation, was the worst part about being in that small room. Because that meant it was seriously serious. 

“I’m going to get coffee. Anyone want anything?” Steve stared directly at Clint, who must’ve seen the urgency in his eyes, and sighed, standing up, too. 

“I will go with,” Clint said, and they left, ducking past the real waiting room that had a few reporters still milling around, and down to a small kitchen area most likely meant for nurses. 

They worked in silence to make five coffees, silently agreeing to bring Nat, Bucky and Tony their own. 

“Can I ask something?” Steve said, voice quieter than usual, all his worry leaking out into the air around them. Clint paused in pouring in sugar in his own cup, biting his lip. The only sign he had emotions going on under his rock hard exterior. 

“Sure.” 

“Yesterday, before Peter left for the decathlon, when the alarm went off… what were you already doing in the living room with him?” 

Clint paused, making direct eye contact with Steve, Steve’s guarded stare on a cold glare. 

“You think I did something to make him collapse.” 

It wasn’t a question, but Steve shook his head in denial. Though, in all honesty, the thought maybe had poked its way into his back of the mind thoughts. 

“No, I just think you might know something.” 

“So you think I am keeping information about why the boy suddenly collapsed?” 

“I want him to be okay, Clint.” 

“Well me too!” Clint’s emotions flooded to the surface for a split second, and he sighed angrily, walls quickly building back up. You wouldn’t even realize that he had opened up if you didn’t know him as well as Steve did, but he saw the flash of hurt, anger, and sadness that flooded his eyes. He saw the pain in the man, the same he was sharing. Damn hospitals. Damn all the hospitals. 

They both hesitated. 

“We… we didn’t really talk. He was crying, and I heard him walk past my room to get to the living room so I went to check on him. He cried for a bit then…” Clint sighed, less angry and more defeated. “He told me about his parents.” 

Steve didn’t understand. Peter’s parents? He has never heard Peter mention his parents. And now he was wondering exactly why. He had an urge that Tony knew exactly why, because Tony knew everything about Peter. 

“What exactly?” Steve whispered, and Clint sighed once again, finishing the last coffee and picking three of them up. 

“Not my story to tell, Steve.” 

They walked back to the room in silence, Clint to his quiet, hidden feelings, and Steve with his confusion about Peter, the small boy who became such an asset in everyone’s lives, even before him moving in. He remembered the day Tony said he was hiring an intern lab assistant, and Steve first met Peter, expecting a young adult, college student at least. But, instead, in walks a scrawny little high schooler with messy hair and the biggest eyes ever, looking around at everything like it was the last thing he would ever look at. He remembered smiling kindly, the boys shy demeanor holding up as he barely speaks a word and turned pink everytime Steve addressed him. And he remembered after, Tony sitting everyone down and saying how he is very anxious and shy and will take him a bit to warm up to the new atmosphere, the new people, and to just be nice and patient. 

Now Steve wanted to tell that to the doctors, nurses, other patients, anyone. 

Don’t hurt that boy. 

 

\--

 

May showed up ten minutes later and Bucky gave her his undrank coffee. It was an hour after that when the doctor came in saying he was awake and they could see him. May went first, alone, then twenty minutes later, came back down asking for Clint. 

“Sorry?” Clint was very confused as to why the hell the boy wanted to see him second after almost dying, but went anyway. 

Peter looked sickly. His skin was almost tinted green it was so sick looking, his eyes had deep bags under them, and his hair was flattened and awkward laying on his head. All in all, he looked exhausted. 

“I was crying because I had a nightmare.” 

The words fell off Peter’s tongue like they had been waiting there for days. Clint hesitated, a bit confused at first, then remembering Peter in the living room. 

“Oh. That’s… I’m sorry,” Clint said softly, moving to stand next to him but keeping a good distance. 

“No, I…” Peter took a deep breath, breathing it out slowly. There was an IV attached to his arm, and Clint stared at that instead. “I have this recurring nightmare. Actually, it’s more of a regular dream but--” 

“Peter, you don’t have to explain yourself to me. It’s fine you were crying over a nightmare.” 

“No, I really do need to explain it. I need to tell someone. Sorry you get the burden.” 

“No, it’s… fine. Tell me.” 

“I have this dream nightmare thing. It’s just me, living normally, but my parents are there. And my uncle. May is usually in the dream but not the focus. Anyway, it’s not even an interesting dream, it really is just me doing normal things with my parents. Eating dinner, going to a movie. Random, domestic stuff like that. But everytime I wake up…” Peter choked on his words, and Clint’s eyes flicked back to Peter’s face. His eyes were welling up, and welling up quick. 

“Peter, it’s okay.” Clint took a step forward and placed a hand awkwardly on Peter’s elbow of the arm not attached to the IV. “You don’t have to.” 

Peter sighed, staring at Clint’s hand on his elbow, but not shaking it off. 

“Everytime I wake up from the dream… I have to remember that it’s not real. That they…” 

Clint squeezed, and Peter grabbed his hand, holding it, tears beginning to actually fall. Clint brushed one away for him, and realized then that he was welling up a little, too. 

“That they aren’t there.” 

And then Clint began crying right alongside Peter, leaning over and eloping the boy in a tight hug which neither moved from for four minutes.


	7. Chapter 7

“Parker, nice job. You been working out?” 

“Heavy lifting and stuff, I guess.” 

“Well, keep it up and you can try out for track next year.” 

Peter sighed, pushing his hair out of his face as he walked away from Coach. Ned sidled up next to him, watching him cautiously. 

“You spend three days out of school, come back on fitness day, and beat your sit up record by twenty and your mile time by two minutes? What the hell did they feed you in the hospital?” He asked, and Peter elbowed him, making him giggle, elbowing back. 

“I dunno, it was just me not moving for the past few days and all the energy flowing now, I guess.” 

The third lie he has ever told Ned in his life and it was about how he is suddenly fit. 

He was very tired. Has been for the past few days, really ever since the damn spider bite. But, for whatever reason, he could suddenly run faster. He could do sit ups no problem, without the usual burn athletics puts on Peter’s body. 

“Don’t get all athletic and fit on me, okay? Your Saturday mornings are reserved for me, May, coffee, and reruns of movies from the sixties. Don’t you dare switch that out for early morning jogs, or so help me God I will murder you myself.” 

This got Peter to laugh. He ignored the dull pressure he felt on his body as they entered the hallway, heading towards their next class, and slung an arm around Ned’s shoulders. 

And for a split second, he thought he could feel Ned’s blood pumping beneath the contact. 

Which was stupid. 

 

\--

 

Bruce barely sent Peter a glance as he walked into the room that afternoon. He was reviewing files from their recent mission, trying to connect it to the two missions before that, and was so deep in work he didn’t have time to talk to the fifteen year old. 

He didn’t see Peter staring at his math homework, one hand flat on the table, eyes wide with fear as he thought that he could sense the garage door opening as Steve pulled in with his bike. But that was impossible, because the garage was how many floors beneath him and wasn’t even that loud. And Tony engineered Steve’s motorcycle to be almost completely silent. Plus, it was a Friday afternoon in New York City. The only sounds Peter could hear or sense or anything else were the commotion of the streets of New York below. 

He couldn’t sense Steve’s motorcycle turning off and Steve dropping his helmet to the ground with a clang. 

He turned back to his math. 

And a minute and a half later, about how long it would take someone to ride an elevator from the garage to their kitchen, Steve walked out of the elevator, trying to fix his helmet hair, sitting next to Peter and exclaiming how he just went on an amazing bike ride outside the city. 

 

\--

 

The next week, Tony ruffled his hair as he passed and Peter could feel his heartbeat through the very light press of Tony’s fingers against his skull for 2 seconds. 

 

\--

 

He began to tune out the feeling of pressure anytime he entered a room with anyone else in it. He began to be able to ignore the feeling of the other person’s blood as they made contact. 

Then his hearing enhanced. 

He could hear a conversation from the other side of a wall. Sure, he could hear the muffled sounds before but now he could hear it clearer, sharper, like he was in the room with him. 

After almost two weeks of complete torture, he was sitting in his room and could hear footsteps coming his way, feel the vibration of the feet approaching and quickly buried himself under his comforter, burying his face into his pillow and pretended to be resting. 

“Peter?” 

It was Bucky, and Peter listened, shifting a bit, as Bucky pushed the door open slowly, peering in. Peter could hear his soft breathing from across the room, making him want to scream. 

“Kid? Everything okay? You’re usually up by now.” 

Which was true. Peter was supposed to be up, getting ready for school. His alarm had actually gone off at 6:30, but he turned it off and elected to spend the thirty minutes he usually spent getting ready trying to tune out the sensation of practically feeling the air circulate around his room, and now he was buried in his bed again, knowing he will not be able to survive another day of overwhelming noise and… sense… from every angle that he received at school. 

“I don’t…” Peter was decently good at pretending to be sick, apparently. Or maybe it was because he practically was. 

“You don’t look too hot, kid. Want me to get Tony? Maybe you’re sick again.” 

Peter didn’t have time to answer before Bucky was up and out of the room, obviously very worried Peter would get sick again. 

Tony came in seconds later, and asked basically the same thing as Bucky. Peter croaked out he was probably just a little sick and needed rest or something, and Tony agreed, instantly beginning to call the school as he left. 

Peter stared up at the ceiling, eyes shifting in and out of focus on blurry distorted shapes of his ceiling fan and light before he fell asleep. 

 

\--

 

It was a week later, and he couldn’t even pull himself out of bed without help at this point. 

Bucky brought him some pancakes every morning, along with a glass of water and two advil. Tony sat with him whenever he could, actually spending more time lounging in Peter’s desk chair than in his lab. Steve helped Peter out of bed and they sat on his floor next to the window mindlessly doodling, Peter with shakey stick figures and copying different equations he remembered down and explaining mindlessly what they were to whoever was in the room, and Steve drawing amazing sketches, somehow, with only the dry erase markers. 

Clint popped in and recounted missions from his time with SHIELD, Natasha told him about her day after bringing him a plate of whatever food they had all scrounged up for him for dinner. Bruce brought old books and movies he found somewhere, or maybe just had. Thor didn’t visit enough to have a routine, but did rejoice once in Peter explaining the quadratic formula and watched West Side Story with him and Bruce a few days prior. 

May came as much as she could, sitting in on whatever the others were doing in the room, whether that was Tony sitting in and watching cartoons with Peter, or plopping herself down between Steve and Peter and drawing some stuff of her own. She always seemed tired, and Peter could notice her taking earlier shifts or later shifts so she could be there with him, which made him angry because she was going out of her way to remotely help him. After five days, he finally got her to leave earlier and go home and get more than three hours of sleep before her next shift by feigning fatigue and faking going to bed early so she would leave. He was tired anyway, and fell asleep two hours earlier than usual. For May, of course. 

MJ and Ned didn’t know how bad it was. Peter told them it was a simple flu virus, lots of hospital patients get it after being in the hospital or whatever, and he could sense they didn’t believe him, but didn’t question it. They sneak texted him during class, though, and made sure to tell him everything mildly interesting that happened that day. 

Four doctors have come and examined Peter, saying he seemed sick, but also was testing completely fine. They said he didn’t have a fever, a virus, or any kind of bug, yet he was jumping at almost nothing and almost vibrating with intensity for no reason. Peter had woken up in cold sweats every night since the first day he stayed home, and wouldn’t stop sweating during the day. 

He couldn’t tell the doctors what was really going on. He tried, he really did, but they never understood, never got what he was saying, always said he was just jumpy. He tried to tell them that it felt like his senses had been turned up to the maximum, but they brushed it off. It was just whatever sickness was inside him. 

Steve came in happily that Friday, a week of Peter barely leaving his room. Tony was sitting in the desk chair doing some work on his laptop and Peter was watching reruns Tom and Jerry on Cartoon Network. Steve sat down to watch, and Peter had to explain the concept of the show (cat chase mouse, mouse always wins) and Steve caught on quickly, laughing at the appropriate times. 

Tony’s phone ringing cut through the quieter day (Peter jumped), and he answered quickly, looking over at Peter sadly. 

“Tony Stark.” 

Peter wasn’t eavesdropping. It doesn’t count as eavesdropping when Tony is sitting in Peter’s room. 

“Any new information?” Tony suddenly sounded frantic. He listened for a second then added, “Is it bad?” 

Steve looked over, look of concern covering him. 

“Goddamn. Okay. We will see you in a few hours.” 

Tony hung up and walked out. Steve shared a look with Peter, then went after him.

 

\--

 

At least Dr. Cho could confirm nothing happening right now was going to be fatal for the young boy. Which, as she said that to room with occupants such as the man that had to have a power source in his chest for years, the one who turns into a green monster when angry, a super soldier from the forties, and a man with a metal arm and traumatizing past, didn’t cause anyone to mentally freak out less. 

“Is it… curable?” Bucky wasn’t completely sure what it meant that radiation was present in the kids veins. Was he going to explode at any given moment? To be fair, Stark had probably explained something like this to the group before, but Bucky rarely listened to what he had to say when he went off on science rants. 

“It isn’t a disease, Sergeant Barnes. Nothing is hurting him.” 

“Then why can’t he get out of bed?” 

“He can get out of bed, he isn’t sick. The radiation is throwing him off, yes, but there is something else in his body, in his system, I believe. Something causing him some amount of pressure physically.” She hesitated, going over the papers in her mind, and Tony thought back to his own memorizations of Peter’s movements over the past week. The jumping, saying he was happy someone was coming with food or something before they were in the room or close enough for Tony to realize they were coming anyway. The jumps whenever someone touched him, made that connection with him. “What bit him, again?” 

“What?” That caught Tony off guard. Bit him? 

“Bit him? He had a bite mark on his neck listed in the examination files from the hospital when he fainted a few weeks ago.” Cho held out the file, and Tony took it, Bruce hovering right next to him, also reading it. 

“Shit, he did.” 

This caused Tony to look over at Natasha, who had been quietly sitting in on the conversation about the boy. He raised an eyebrow for explanation. “I... it all happened so fast. I jumped into the elevator that day, after taking your phone, remember? We were riding it down and he had a band-aid on his neck, and I asked what it was. He said it was just a cut and I was going to press more but then he fainted.” 

Cho took in the information, studying some more things on her computer with a concerned and confused face. 

“The doctor report says it’s a bite, but isn’t specified. I assume they didn’t look into it, as it may not have looked infected. There are some bites by different animals thats venom can cause coma-like sickness before fully infecting the victim. It could be something like that, though there aren’t a lot of common species in New York that could cause that sort of reaction.” 

“He didn’t have the band-aid when he left,” Steve added quietly, as if he was trying to map out everything in his head. Cho looked at him curiously. 

“He left?” 

“He fainted right after he came back from Virginia. A school trip.” 

“Where in Virginia?” 

“Uh, Richmond? I think? He went for a scholastic decathlon.” 

Cho hesitated, typing something out on her laptop, then visibly tensing, looking up at Bruce, then shifting her eyes over to Tony. 

“How fast can we get his blood drawn?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ding dong this is the longest fic ive written


	8. Chapter 8

Peter wasn’t exactly sure how to respond to anything anyone was saying. Everything sounded completely made up, completely ridiculous, and utterly awful. 

“Okay…” Peter sighed a bit, eyebrows furrowed. He didn’t have the mind capacity for whatever Tony was implying. “So you are saying… that I was bitten… by a radioactive spider… which has given me the power to sense things before they happen in a sixth sense sort of way. And that’s why I have been feeling weird. Because I can… sense everything. And I may have more… spider… like… abilities.” 

Clint wasn’t laughing, which surprised Peter the most, because that was certainly the most insane thing he has ever heard. 

“...Yes.” 

Peter sighed again, resting his head against the bedframe and staring at the ceiling tiredly. 

“Sure. Okay. Fine.” 

Everyone exchanged a small look, and Tony bit his lip, glancing at Steve then back at the boy. 

He could work with it. 

“Is there anything I can even do to help it… stop?” Surprisingly, or maybe not, Peter wasn’t that appalled by this conversation, which maybe he should have been. “Where did this spider even come from anyway?” 

“Dr. Cho, the one who took your blood two days ago, who has been testing it and researching, is trying to make some solutions. We are in uncharted territory. We aren’t for sure, but we think the spider was somehow infected in a radioactive leakage that occured about twenty minutes outside of where you staying in Virginia. It happened about a month before, putting the whole site on lockdown for two days, but they believed that they got rid of, or at least contained, all of the infected materials. Maybe the spider got infected and was able to flee before they could go on lockdown, and then when it bit you… it… transferred some stuff over to you,” Tony sighed, forehead wrinkled in exasperation. Steve nudged him softly, and he snapped back to the small boy sitting on his bed, staring at the ceiling with a pained look. 

Peter didn’t respond, and Clint twitched, almost seeming restless in the silence. He wanted to go shoot something. Bad. 

“Okay,” Peter whispered, squeezing his eyes shut, and leaning back. 

When he opened them a few moments later, once Tony ushered everyone else out (“He needs some space. Give me a minute.”), there were small tears in the corners. 

“Why me? Why now?” Peter sighed, voice trembling on the verge of breaking. “I don’t need this. I… I need to focus on school, and college, and… and… this job….” 

Peter paused for a sniff. Tony knelt next to his bed, and placed a hand on the boys knee.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered, and Peter looked at him quizzically. “I’m so sorry I didn’t do anything sooner. Didn’t notice you were getting worse. Didn’t know to keep this from happening.” 

“It’s not your fault. How could it be?” Peter said, smiling softly. He focused on Tony’s heartbeat he could feel through his pajama pants and the comforter. 

“I don’t know. I just… I want you to be okay, Pete,” Tony whispered softly. 

Peter lost it, and pulled Tony into a tight bear hug without complaint, and without question from the big man himself. 

 

\--

 

Tony spent three days in the lab. No sleeping, no eating meals, just snacking on popcorn throughout the day and drinking way too much coffee. Very young-Tony-esque. 

Jarvis knew the importance of what he was working on, so he actually didn’t nag about him sleeping. Just the occasional jab that he was tired when Tony yawned. 

Steve was a bit more… let’s say pushy. 

“Tony.” 

Tony smiled at the blond man as he stormed into the lab. He was carrying a file and was wearing his Captain America suit. There was a mission about two hours ago, but when Fury called in he specifically requested that no three-day-old Tony tiredness was helping out. Fine by Tony. He needed to help Peter. 

“Heya Cap. How’d the mission go?” 

“Fine. Would’ve been easier if you were there, though,” Steve grilled, staring down at Tony on his lab stool. Tony shrugged haphazardly, leaning into his computer to check something, then smiling widely at something on the computer, waving Steve off. Steve sighed defeatedly, knowing he couldn’t really argue with the man, and decided to come back the next day to try again. 

After another full day of Tony alone in his lab, the door slid open to reveal Peter, wearing red pajama bottoms, a sweatshirt with the hood up, and a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He tiredly smiled, and trudged over to sit next to Tony. 

“Jarvis said you needed me,” His voice was raspy and quiet, much different to what Tony was used to. Sure, he was quiet, but his voice was higher, and clear. He sounded like a different person. 

“Yeah. I need you to test something for me,” Tony turned to his lab, searching through multiple projects to pull out what he had mainly been working on. A pair of tortoise shell glasses, thick rims in a square shape. Tony held them out to Peter. “Try them on.” 

Peter did. Slipping them on his face, he looked around as if expecting something more. Tony reached next to his ear, right next to where the frame meets the top of his ear, and pressed a small button.

Peter jumped back in alarm, falling into a table but managing to keep himself upright, while knocking some huge items to the floor. It was loud enough for Tony, even in his sleep-deprived state, to jump, but Peter looked like his entire body was sucked out through his nose he looked like he was in so much pain. But he kept whipping his head around in confusion. 

“I figured that the spider bite probably messed with your vision, making it a bit blurrier and separated, like spiders see. So, I made those glasses from an old pair of mine. With the button on your ear, you can turn it on and off, and it will help control the input you are getting. They look like normal glasses to everyone else, and you can see everyone else normally.” 

Peter was speechless. He just kept looking around in awe, confusion, and disbelief. It was like he forgotten what regular vision was. 

“I…” Tears almost instantaneously began to form under his eyes, but Tony held up a hand to stop him. 

“Wait, wait, don’t get all emotional on me,” He said, smiling at the boy, who was still looking around like it was all about to disappear. “Here.” 

A pair of hearing aids. Peter looked at them in Tony’s hand, then up at Tony. They looked exactly like the one’s Clint had, just instead of being blue they were red. 

“Hearing aids? Tony I am hearing too much not too--” 

“Put them on, dumbass,” Tony sighed, forcing them into Peter’s hand. He hesitated, and slipped them on his ears. Tony pushed back Peter’s hair, and turned them on simultaneously. 

And nothing. 

Peter sat there, staring at Tony, hearing nothing. 

No sounds he shouldn’t be able to hear from the street below. 

No beeping from the microwave two floors up. 

No air circulating the room. 

Just whirring from the machines close by, and Tony’s soft breathing. 

Peter burst into tears. 

And, Tony followed soon after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tony stark is: a dad


	9. Chapter 9

Peter was behind in school. 

Clint walked into the kitchen the next Saturday, seeing Peter sitting at the kitchen counter, books spread out around him and a notebook. He was sitting cross-legged, with a Stark Industries t-shirt on, red flannel pajama pants, adorned with glasses and his hearing aids. He looked very focused on whatever he was doing, and Clint smiled to himself as he started the coffee maker. It was an electronically modified coffee maker (because Tony Stark) and all Clint had to do was press “Birdman” and it would begin to make his coffee the way he likes it (a shit ton of sugar, no cream). 

“Can I talk to you?” Clint asked as he leaned next to the coffee maker, waiting. Peter looked up, pushing the glasses further up on his face. Glasses looked good on the kid. 

“Sure,” Peter smiled softly. Everyone had been talking in softer voices lately, but for the most part Peter was doing much better than before. He couldn’t go back to school until he was cleared by the doctor, but Ned came by and ran through everything that he had missed for every class, and Peter was beginning to catch up. 

“That morning… Before the field trip. When you…” 

“Yeah,” Peter sighed, setting his pencil down, and leaning on his crossed arms, looking downwards in a bit of shame. 

“I…” Clint took a breath, and stepped forward. The counter was still between them. “I just wanted you to know if that ever happens again. The nightmares, I mean… My room is always open. Seriously.” 

“I don’t want to bother you,” Peter whispered, and Clint reached over, grabbing Peter’s hand. 

“Pete, you having a nightmare and needing help is not bothering anyone. It’s being human. Like how Steve helps with Tony’s. And how Nat helps with Bruce. If you ever feel even a little bit sad, walk into my room and wake me up. Or, I might even be awake. This doesn’t even need to just be me. I’m sure if I am not awake, Steve is doing a workout, or Tony is in the lab, or Bruce is watched trashy television while stuffing his face with week-old pizza. Don’t be afraid to ask.” 

“I… okay.” Peter looked down to his lap, and smiled, hand still being held by Clint. “Sorry I didn’t before.” 

“Why didn’t you?” Clint asked, letting go of his hand, but continuing to lean forward on the counter. 

“Because… I dunno. Sure, you guys were really amazing and nice and had already accepted me being around all the time, but… It just is a lot. I know it’s a lot. I didn’t want to bother anyone when I didn’t need to. Especially since it’s not like I am a friend. Really, I am just here because of the internship.” 

“Peter Parker,” Clint said, straightening instantly. “You are as much a part of this family as I am. Congratulations, we are all fucked-up individuals with fucked-up pasts, but we, including you, are here right now. I don’t care if you are ‘only here because the internship’. Because that is so not true. You are here because we have all collectively adopted you as our kid to protect and love. You’re stuck with us, so better start coming to us with your problems, or we will just find them out another way.” 

Peter was smiling, chuckling a little as he watched Clint, who was beaming. 

“You fit in with us perfectly, Petey. I mean, come on. We have two super soldiers from the forties, a super-genius with a too-big ego, a former Russian assassin, a scientist who can turn big and green, a Norse fucking god, and a hard of hearing sharp shooter. And now a guy who has vision and hearing like a spider.” 

Peter was grinning ear to ear, and Clint took content in this, moving to get his finished coffee. As he turned around, Peter said, “If I try hard enough I can stick to walls with my fingertips.” 

Clint took a sip of coffee and turned back to the boy, who was still grinning. 

“Don’t tell Tony. He will make you wear winter gloves.” 

 

\--

 

“Don’t take the glasses off in case someone bumps the button while they are off. Avoid water to your ears. And the glasses. I tested both for waterproof but just to be sure. The school has been informed of the… issue… and you are allowed to go to the nurse at anytime during the day to lay down if you do start to feel everything coming back. Call me if that happens, okay? The batteries should last a few days at least, but just in case, in here is an extra pair. Also, another pair of glasses, exactly like the ones you have on. Just in case.” 

Tony turned to Steve, who was staring at him with a “you are such a dork” look. 

“Did I forget anything?” 

“Make sure to tell him to not die. That’s so important.” 

“Okay. Don’t die,” Tony breathed. Peter chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. He was getting used to the glasses, but not the hearing aids just yet. He kept accidentally knocking the sound thing. 

“Ready?” Clint asked, sauntering into the room with a ring of keys swirling around his finger. 

“Don’t stress too much, yeah?” Steve said quickly, high fiving the young boy. He smiled a bit unsure, and nodded. Tony grabbed his arm, whispered something, and Peter hugged him for a brief second before following Clint to the elevators with a wave. 

As the door closed, Tony almost collapsed to the ground. With a laugh, Steve lifted him onto the kitchen counter, and sighed, smiling at him. 

“You act like a dad around him,” He said softly, and Tony shrugged, leaning into him as he stared at the elevator doors. 

“I think we all do.”

 

\--

 

Peter stared at the building, not budging from Clint’s passenger seat. 

“Bud?” Clint asked, turning to face him. Someone behind him honked, and he grumbled, pulling forward and out of the drop-off line, instead temporarily parking in a random spot. “What’s going on?” 

“Everyone is going to see me. Glasses, hearing aids. They are going to think I like came back from the dead or something.” 

“Better than them thinking you actually were dead, right?” 

“I don’t…” 

Peter sighed, and leaned back against the headrest. Clint saw the tiniest of tears in his eye, and instantly wanted to go in and individually pound every kid who was ever mean to Peter. 

“Peter.” Clint’s words echoed through the quiet car. Outside, New York was bustling and busy, but they were in their own, safe little bubble. “I am going to be one hundred percent real with you right now, okay? There will be people who think it’s weird you have hearing aids now. Or think it’s odd that you are wearing glasses. And I am not gonna sit here and preach that it’s just high school, or that it isn’t important in the long run, or that it only matters what your friends think. I still get self conscience about my hearing aids. I hate them. They are a reminder that I am… That I am broken.” 

Peter stared at his, glossy eyes and all. 

“But, at the same time, they humanize me. They keep me grounded. I can’t hear properly. Tough shit. I fight like a badass and I can shoot better than anyone I know. Except maybe Bucky. Don’t need hearing for that. And you are an amazing kid, amazing guy. You are all science and math and shit, and are funny, sarcastic, laid back, and a perpetual worrier. I’m not going to sit here and try to get you to understand that it doesn’t matter what others think of you, because you are a kid and of course it matters. That’s okay. No one is going to think of you in a negative light because you need help hearing. Or that you wear glasses. High school is shit, I know that, everyone knows that. If you spend all of high school sitting out here in the parking lot with a bum who shoots bad guys for a living… then you won’t get to experience the shit everyone else does. Yeah, people might be confused, amused, or concerned. But you can stick to walls. So who cares.” 

Peter hesitated, and pushed his glasses further up his nose with his pinky finger. Then, he smiled, just the tip of his lips pointing up. 

He got out of the car. 

 

\--

 

As he stepped into the school building, he anticipated the too-high buzz he had grown accustomed to before he left school, but it never came, and for that, he sent a silent but happy thank you to Tony. 

As he opened his locker, he kept his head down, pushing his glasses as far up his nose as possible and glancing around, waiting for Flash to come out of nowhere and pounce on him with questions and insults and jibes at the newfound nerd look. 

Instead, he got MJ leaning against the locker next to him, smirking. 

“Ned told me you gotta new look. I like it. Very Parker-esque,” She poked the glasses with her pinky finger, eyeing the hearing aids. “Sorry whatever you had beat the crap outta you. Are they permanent?” 

MJ thought Peter was sick, it seemed. 

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I think so. The glasses, maybe not. To-Mr. Stark will probably make some contacts or whatever. But the hearings aids are… permanent.” 

Peter’s heard did a flop at that. 

“Don’t look so bummed. They suit you. Your ears look bigger.” 

“Did they not look big before?” Peter pulled out his textbook and shut his locker, and MJ spun on her heel as they walked towards language arts. 

“Nope. Tiny. But hidden behind your stupidly long hair. When did you get it cut?” 

“Uh, Bucky did it. While I was sick. Gave me something to, you know, enjoy?” 

They stepped into the room, and Ned, who was sitting at a four person table alone, looked up and beamed. 

“Hey! How are you feeling? Was it hard to wake up early again?” Ned asked as they both sat down, and Peter chuckled softly. 

“Missed you, too. I’m feeling fine, but waking up was really hard.” Peter chuckled, and Ned smiled again. 

“We missed you, too. Decathlon isn’t fun without you there.” 

“Hey! I’m here too, and I am the captain, so be nice.” 

The bell rang just as Flash slipped in the door, smirking to himself. Peter watched him saunter over to his desk and sit down, before even glancing in his direction. Once he laid eyes on Peter, his face morphed into a mix of confusion and shock, then leaned over to whisper to his friend without breaking eye contact. Peter looked down first, pushing his glasses up again. He was not good at confrontation, and the glasses seemed to be magnifying just that. 

“Good morning, everyone. Hope everyone had a good weekend. Ah, Mr. Parker, good to have you back. Take it your few weeks off helped you fight your illness?”

Peter could still feel Flash’s eyes on him, now along with the rest of his class. All he could manage to the teacher was a hum and a nod. Something, a little pinprick in the back of his mind, told him that something was going to happen. Something bad. He couldn’t tell what the pinprick was, but… But he could just feel it. Like an itch, but in his brain, and he couldn’t reach it. 

Peter tried to ignore it throughout class, but as the minutes ticked by and the teacher lectured on and on about the Elizabethan era of literature, the itch in the back of his mind grew. It felt much like the sensory stuff that had come before, but just in a little spot in the back of his head, and it didn’t hurt so much as seem to be… warning. 

It spiked when the bell rang, and Peter left the classroom, separating from Ned and MJ to go to math. 

It went absolutely wild when he felt someone fall into step next to him. Staring at the feet of the person was what told Peter off instantly; nice, non scuffed shoes and a sauntery walk. 

“Hey, Penis,” Flash chuckled, falling into pace with Peter, dopey grin covering his face. 

“Flash.” 

“Like the new look. You really are going for dweep of the year, aren’t you?” 

The pinprick went apeshit, and the next thing Peter knew, he woke up in the nurse’s office. 

He sat up, head buzzing as his glasses weren’t on his face. He began to panic, but saw them sitting on a little side table next to him. He slipped them on, and pressed the button to activate them, instantly feeling relief from the pressure of the world. 

“Hello?” 

His voice sounded muffled in his hearing aids. Something must’ve happened. He was disoriented, and still feeling very dizzy. 

The nurse, whom he had grown to know over the past two years by constantly faking stomach aches to get out of class, came bustling in, getting Peter to lay back down. 

“Concussion, Mr. Parker. Stay down. Your aunt is on her way.” 

Damn. May shouldn’t come all the way there just to pick up Peter. She’s going to be pissed. 

Peter laid back, staring at the ceiling through his thin glasses frames. 

She was going to be pissed because Peter had a concussion. He got into a fight, it seemed, but Peter wasn’t really sure. He couldn’t remember much, besides a weird itch in the back of his mind exploding then waking up. Why couldn’t he remember? That was what puzzled him the most. 

A few more minutes of waiting, and Peter sighed frustratedly at the ceiling, letting his eyes slide closed. This day was egregiously long, and it had only just begun. It felt like years ago was Clint’s talk, though it really was only an hour. Or two. It dawned on Peter he didn’t know what time it was. 

After a second, or probably much longer, of Peter floating in the darkness that was behind his eyelids, he heard someone come into the nurses office and move towards him. The hearing aids worked pretty well, though everything felt strangely fuzzy. Not muted, but fuzzier, less sharp sounding. 

“Hey, Pete? Can you hear me?” 

Peter forced an eye open, coming face to face with Steve. 

And, to put it nicely, Peter was suddenly, and very passionately, pissed.


	10. Chapter 10

There was no rhyme, or reason for Peter to be angry, but he was. 

He lay in bed at 4:17, arriving home almost four hours before, and was watching a movie on his phone when it buzzed obnoxiously, causing him to have to shift his position to read and respond to whatever text. 

A link to an article, from Ned, which a string of question marks following. 

The article, which Peter could see on the text screen, was titled “The new Avenger: Everything You Need to Know About This New Member of the World’s Heroes”, along with a picture of Steve and Peter from almost four hours ago, when Steve was walking Peter from his school to his car after picking him up. 

Peter didn’t respond, and instead choked back a scream and chucked his phone across the room, where it bounced off the bulletproof window and fell to the ground, screen face up. Even from across the room, Peter could see cracks spider-webbing across the screen. The irony of it was radiating through the room. 

He lay back, again staring at his ceiling. Someone, he assumed Clint or Bucky, had stuck glow-in-the-dark stars above his bed, though he didn’t know when that had happened. Probably when he was too overloaded by his sensors to notice anything going on around him. 

“Friday,” He said, voice soft and shaking. 

“Yes, sir?” 

“Is Tony in the building, currently?” 

“No, he is at a fundraiser downtown for an Oscorp-funded charity.” 

“Who is in the living room or kitchen currently?” 

“No one. Would you like to know the locations of the team?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Peter always tried to be polite. 

“Sergeant Barnes and Mr. Barton are in the training room, Ms. Romanoff left the building three hours ago, Thor is off of Earth currently, Mr. Banner is asleep in his room, and Captain Rogers left the building seventeen minutes ago.” 

“Thank you.” 

Continuing to stare at the ceiling, he debated getting Friday to call Clint up. Clint had said to call him whenever he needed. 

But he didn’t want to be a bother. 

The internal struggle came bursting out of Peter, the one he had been fighting against ever since Tony, May, and Steve sat him down and asked if he wanted to move in. The struggle of the line finally burst out, Peter’s struggles to maintain those lines, and everyone else’s force on those lines caused them to completely burst open. The line of Peter’s role in the tower, being Tony, Mr. Stark’s assistant and the want, need to be more. Be the little brother, the son, the friend they all wanted. The line was blurred, and had been crossed probably thousands of times. And Peter couldn’t help but hate that. 

One tear, then another, then a thousand followed, and Peter watched the stars blur behind the salty sobs. 

 

\--

 

“Mr. Barton, Peter is currently having a panic attack.” 

Clint and Bucky both looked at each other, both in a fighting stance, as they were in the middle of a sparring match. 

“Call the elevator,” Clint said, rushing towards his water, then the opening elevator doors, Bucky on his heels. 

 

\--

 

Bucky woke up to someone shaking his shoulder. 

“Hmph?” He mumbled, peeling his eyes open. His neck was instantly sore, and he realized he had fallen asleep leaning against Peter’s closed bedroom door. 

“Are you okay? What are you doing?” Steve asked, helping Bucky up. Bucky’s neck really hurt. Wow. 

“I was…” Bucky looked back at the closed bedroom door. He could tell from the windows down the hall that it was bordering onto nighttime, as the sky was significantly darker, casting a pink shade over everything with the sunset. “Something happened, after you left.”

Bucky explained him and Clint rushing up after getting the call that Peter was having a panic attack. He couldn’t help but note how even though it was an AI system, Friday had sounded almost worried when telling them. Which was… upsetting, to say the least. It seemed none of them, even the building itself, wanted Peter to get hurt in any way. Clint had gone in after mushing his words and saying something about how he made a promise to Peter and he had to do it alone and to just give them a few minutes, then disappeared behind the closed door. Bucky camped out just in case they, meaning Clint, needed any help. 

“Wow. Tony is gonna flip,” Steve chuckled, and Bucky nodded, his heart jumping a bit. He still needed to talk to Steve, but he knew now wasn’t the time. He would get to it, though. Eventually. “Do you think we could go in?” 

The door creaked the smallest bit as they opened it, and both veterans looked into the room. The sunset caused everything to glow almost magically, and there, on Peter’s bed, was the boy, adorned with glasses and hearing aids, and the man, adorned with just hearing aids, arms around each other as they both were sleeping peacefully. Peter’s face was flushed, and so was Clint’s, if they looked close enough. 

Bucky stared at Clint a bit longer than necessary, and if Steve pretended not to notice but smiled to himself at seeing that look on his best friend’s face, that was no one’s business. 

 

\--

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Tony asked softly. It was the next day, and though Peter’s head was pounding a bit, it was nothing compared to what he felt yesterday. It was as if the concussion was fading naturally. 

“I was embarrassed. The only reason I told Clint was because he found me curled up in a ball of tears in the middle of the night.” 

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed that you have nightmares. Or that you have anxiety attacks. I have them, and I’m pretty normal, right?” Tony asked, laughing a bit as he finished. “Alright, worse way to confront that.” 

Peter stayed silent for a minute, staring out his window. There were doodles on it, still, little drawings from random people from the group, scribbled scientific equations and eraser marks. Peter loved it. “I was scared that if you knew everything that was wrong with me, you wouldn’t want me living here. Or as an assistant.” 

“Oh, Pete,” Tony sighed, pulling the boy in closer. “You aren’t my assistant.” 

Peter jerked up, eyes wide, and mouth hanging open. “What?” 

Tony frantically held up his hands. “I mean, you aren’t just my assistant anymore. You are so much more.” 

Peter stayed silent, looking at Tony. 

“I mean, you haven’t been just my assistant in a long time. Really, I don’t think you ever were just. You came into this building however long ago, with your stupid haircut and stupid shy smile, and I think everyone just collectively agreed you weren’t just an assistant. You were a new member of the team. An emotional support teenager for all of us emotionally unstable superheroes. Someone for Clint to lose to at MarioKart, for Bucky to harmlessly prank for his own enjoyment. Someone for Bruce to bounce ideas off of and have someone to discuss scientific theories with. Someone to appreciate Thor’s buttered noodles, or Natasha’s stories. Someone who sits in the lab with me at ridiculous hours, eating week old popcorn and laughing hysterically about nothing and everything at once.” 

Peter smiled to his lap. Tony clapped a hand softly on the boy’s shoulder, and squeezed a bit, affectionately. 

“You aren’t just an assistant, Peter. You’re family. And, you’re kinda stuck with us. So, you might as well come forward with your problems, because we sure as hell come to you with ours.” 

Peter kept smiling softly, ignoring the odd tear roll down his cheek as Tony squeezed his shoulder again, stood up, and walked to the door. 

“And, just so you know,” Tony said, and Peter looked up a bit. “Keep something as big as the fact that you can stick to walls from me again and I will just have to fire you, Mr. Parker.” 

Peter’s smile just grew as his bedroom door shut behind Tony. 

So what if Flash was a dick at school sometimes, and so what if Peter’s hearing and vision was messed up for the rest of his life. 

Peter slipped off his hearing aids, and could hear Clint and Bucky arguing over what to watch on TV two rooms over. 

At least he had these guys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just the epilogue left! ik it's a really rushed ending, but this would've dragged on for years, and i wasn't here for it, so i'd rather post a fic that is a bit rushed then write 20k works and never post it you know


	11. Epilogue

_one year later_

“You know, most people only get two or three chairs for the immediate parent section, Parker,” MJ said as they walked away from the table. With graduation just around the corner, caps and gowns ordered, and grades almost finalized, Peter was suddenly feeling weird about leaving Midtown Tech. Telling the graduation coordinator how many immediate family chairs he would need was sort of pushing it over the edge. “Not eight.”

“Well, Tony would murder me if he wasn’t in the immediate family section. Or, he wouldn’t say anything but be very passive about it. So would Clint and Bucky. It’s easier just to get eight, that way they all have good seats, and May isn’t alone.”

“Do you know that there are going to be cameramen there? Because of you?” Ned said from Peter’s other side, and Peter groaned a little, pushing his glasses up on his nose.

“Yeah, they’re everywhere nowadays. Hopefully it will calm down at MIT.”

Peter and Ned were both going to MIT this coming fall. MJ was jetting off to USC, but promised to visit as much as possible. Peter was actually going to miss her sarcastic comments and drawings of him in the worst positions ever. He had already made her promise she would draw random people in her classes and send them to him so he can see what he is missing in California.

“Maybe. It’s like you’re a real celebrity, though. Kinda nice, sticking it in Flash’s face every time a cameraman pushes past him to take a picture of you.” Ned sat down at their usual table, Peter and MJ with him.

“Speaking of…” Ned mumbled, and Peter’s senses flared before he felt a hand clap his back. His senses did that when something dangerous happened around Peter, as he figured out through a year of having Spider powers.

“Hey, Parker,” Flash said, sliding onto the bench next to Peter, hand still on Peter’s back. It tingled, and Peter could feel his blood, which only really happened now when he was anxious or on edge. He had begun to control his senses like that, the things not controlled by his eyes or ears. When people touch him now, usually, it’s a lot easier to not notice the blood or heart rate, but when he was worked up…

“Flash,” Peter mumbled, and Ned and MJ shared a look of annoyance. Peter kept his eyes trained on the table in front of him. It wasn’t usual, now, for Flash to fully come up to him like this, ever since Peter lost it, giving Flash a broken jaw and himself a concussion all those months before. Senior year, Flash began to calm down, and though he always teased Peter, it was just that—teasing, not really bullying anymore.

One more week of this, then Peter was off to Massachusetts and Flash was staying in New York, going to NYU.

“Excited for graduation?” Flash removed his hand, and Peter felt relief at not feeling his fast beating heart rate anymore. Why was it beating so fast?

“What do you want, Flash?” Peter sighed, opening his Diet Coke bottle with a sizzle.

“Just to talk. Privately,” Flash said, and Peter noticed Flash wasn’t sounding condescending or annoying, like usual, but seemed a bit more… mundane? Sad?

“Why would I do that?” Peter asked sourly, and Flash let out a little sigh, sounding really defeated. Strange.

“Please, Parker. I just…” Finally Peter glanced over, and saw how uncertain he looked. If he looked past Flash he could see his usual tablemates looking over oddly, questioning what Flash was doing. “Just wanna talk for a second.”

“Fine,” Peter said, surprising himself. He stood, told MJ and Ned to watch his bag, and followed Flash out of the cafeteria through the double doors leading out to the football field.

They stood by the fence, Flash gripping the metal tightly, staring anywhere but Peter. The sun was beating down on them, as summer approached quickly, and the tension between the two was flowing, and flowing heavily.

“Are you gonna like, jump me or something?” Peter asked after a few seconds of silence. “Because if you are, can we just get it over wi—”

“I’m sorry.”

Peter stopped, looking over at him. He thought he maybe heard wrong, but definitely didn’t. Flash was apologizing. For what?

“For what?”

“Everything,” Flash said, and when Peter went to say something else, Flash cut him off again. “I was a dick. Have been for so long. I hated myself, hated you, hated just… everything. I went after you because… I dunno, easy target? It was wrong, and stupid, and I just couldn’t bring myself to stop.”

Peter was silent, not really sure what to say to that. This was the last thing he expected from Flash. He kinda felt like it was a joke.

“You know, last year? When we got into that fight, the one where you broke my jaw? My dad told me that I deserved it. That maybe if I was actually nice, or generous, or at least a bit likable I wouldn’t have to get into fights for attention.”

Silence from Peter.

“He was never a good dad, y’know? I mean, all those times I made jokes about your parents, or nagged you about your uncle… It was because I was jealous.” Peter swung his head towards Flash, eyes flashing angrily. “No, no, not jealous, jealous. I’m really sorry about that. Just… my life woulda been a hell of a lot easier if my dad wasn’t in it.”

“Don’t wish your dad was dead, though,” Peter said quietly, looking back over the football field. He leaned on the fence, now, too, and continued, “I think having an alive dad is better than dead, under any circumstances.”

Flash was quiet for a minute, then said, softly, “Maybe. Still can’t help but wish he wasn’t there when he threatens to hit me.”

Peter looked over again. “Hits you?”

“Yeah, I mean, he doesn’t. Just… threatens. Waves plates around, holds up clenched fists. All those little tactics to make your kid scared of you.”

“That’s not a tactic to make a kid scared of you, Flash. That’s…” He looked Peter in the eye. “Abuse.”

More silence, as Flash held the stare, the tension between them melting into something else. Sadness. Hurt. Anger. Not at each other, though. At… At the world.

“Still doesn’t give me an excuse for hittin’ you,” Flash said after a second, eyes dropping. His shoes toed the ground, and Peter looked down, too.

“No, it doesn’t,” He said, and suddenly felt Flash’s hand touch his shoulder, softly. As if in comradery.

“You’re gonna have a great time at MIT, Parker. It will suit you, bein’ around all of those nerds,” Flash said softly. But it wasn’t said with his usual bite. It was said almost fondly. Like a brother talking to his little kid brother.

“You, too. At NYU.”

“Hope your college is better than your high school,” Flash said, and began to walk away, back towards the school building.

Before he entered the building, Peter turned and called after him, “Yours, too.”

 

\--

 

“Can you pass me that? No, the one next to it. Other side. Yep, give it,” Tony said mindlessly. Peter chuckled, handing over the tool and sitting back a little in his chair. He was scrolling through RedBubble, trying to find new magnets for Bucky.

The summer had passed, and passed quickly. With Peter spreading his summer between spending his last few days with MJ and Ned together, hanging out with May when she was free, and slowly packing up and preparing himself and the others for his leave of the tower, he had had an extremely busy few months. Middle of August, though, brought MJ leaving with a ruffle of Peter and Ned’s heads and a wave as she walked through security at the airport, and the beginning of really packing up his room in the tower, preparing for his move to Massachusetts.

The night before, he had gone to Clint’s room. Tears drying on his cheeks, him and Clint played MarioKart until dawn, and Peter let Clint win, which he called Peter on. It was a silent, premature goodbye. Over the past year, Clint was someone who Peter really bonded to, despite not really talking to him before. He was the one who Peter went to after nightmares, and even sometimes woke up to Clint asleep on his floor. He wasn’t one hundred percent sure, but he guessed that on those days, Clint had his own nightmares and came to Peter. They had a sort of brotherly bond that really, Peter wouldn’t trade for anything.

And, now Peter could shoot a bow decently well, which was a plus.

He had had silent, early goodbyes with everyone, really. The last moments of the important things as to acknowledge his time with these people in the tower. Thor “taught” him how to make buttered noodles for his time in college and the hungry nights he had when his metabolism kicked in again, because of the spider bite. Bruce and him sat down and discussed chemistry theories in the living room in a full-on, full attention debate. Bruce brought graphs, Peter wrote a five paragraph essay in advance. Natasha took him on a fast food run, where they ordered everything at McDonalds, Burger King, and Chick-Fil-A, bringing it home for everyone to just binge eat together. Steve sat down and watched the first and second Harry Potter movies with him after he finished the books, which Peter had loaned him. Bucky and him went to gas stations all across town, finding the funniest or oddest magnets they could, even getting two of a few so Peter could take them to college with him.

He had had the little goodbyes with everyone, except Tony.

He knew he had to, eventually. His move-out day was getting closer and closer, now less than a week away, and he just couldn’t bring himself to say goodbye to Tony.

Tony, who changed his life. Who practically adopted him after hiring him for an internship, took him into his home, and helped him through the hardest part of his life. Who developed legitimate new technology just for him to function like a normal human. Who kept tabs on Peter’s records at school just to make sure he was eating enough because he cared so much.

He cared.

Peter cleared his throat. Thinking too much about it made him want to start crying.

Tony looked up, and over at the kid. “You alright, kid?”

Peter saw it. Tony already had the sadness in his eyes. The sadness that May has held since the start of summer, the sadness that MJ tried to cover up with sarcastic comments as they rode to the airport a few days before.

“I’m gonna miss you,” Peter whispered, and Tony dropped the wrench, pulling Peter immediately in for a tight hug. And honestly, screw silent goodbyes. Screw the sadness in the eyes, and the pretending it’s a normal day when they know it’s probably their last.

Screw subtly.

Peter gripped Tony’s shirt, and sobbed into it, not for the first time. Not even for the second, or third.

Peter gripped Tony’s shirt, and sobbed into it, but underneath it all, as Tony gripped back, sobbing himself, they were smiling.

It was a happy kinda sad, and Peter was alright with that.

He could feel Tony’s heart beat. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the spider bite, or just because they were holding each other so tightly, but he could hear it.

He was glad he could.

He would never get sick of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> she's done! i wrote this back in july 2018, only really finishing it these past few days when i found it deep within my google docs, so it's been a roller coaster to reread this and just remember writing it. hope you enjoyed!


End file.
